Clock of My Heart
by Artemis Day
Summary: All her life, Jane has sought the stars. When an accident sends her back in time to WWII, she doesn't quite find stars, but she does find love with a handsome sergeant. Their love seems doomed from the start, but Jane will soon learn the of all strange and horrible ways fate can work.
1. 88 Miles Per Hour

**A/N: So, in addition to updating all my WIPs, I am also starting this new story.**

 **Hah...**

 **I blame two people. Omnicat, for reblogging a photo of Natalie Portman in forties looking clothing, which led to me dreaming up a scenario in which Jane goes back in time and falls in love with Bucky, and Vampi, for reading that post and then convincing me to turn it into a full story.**

 **Thank you so much, you guys! I hope you and everyone else who happens to read this enjoys.**

* * *

Darcy had the TV on again. It was a newly installed flat screen with HBO, a full sports package, and Netflix, all generously provided by their friends at SHIELD. Per Darcy, it was imperative to their research that they have full satellite HD TV, along with a state of the art coffee maker and new smartphones. That last one was an addendum after Jane's old equipment was returned. Darcy's iPod had gotten lost in transit.

That SHIELD had agreed to these demands was perplexing for all of five seconds. Then Agent Coulson sent her a shipment of shiny new computers and weather machines. She spent a week familiarizing herself with technology so advanced that it shouldn't even exist yet. Smartphones had to be like penny candy for these guys. As such, Jane didn't complain about the TV.

She _did_ complain about Darcy keeping the TV on at all hours with the volume blasting.

"Darcy, whatever you're watching cannot be that important," Jane shouted as explosions and gunfire burst from the speakers. On screen, the Badass Action Hero TM wielded a gun twice his size and fired perfect shots into the swarm of mooks who couldn't seem to get a single shot in despite outnumbering him a hundred to one. He would have no trouble saving the president and getting the glamorous villainess to change her ways and jump into bed with him before the credits rolled. "Just turn it down!"

"What's the point of HD if I can't enjoy a surround sound movie watching experience?" Darcy hollered over another explosion. "Besides, I finished my work for the day."

"Then go take a walk or something. Get drunk. I don't care. I need to focus."

"You've been _focusing_ non-stop all day! Why don't _you_ go take a walk or get drunk?"

"Stop avoiding the iss- gah! Just forget it."

Jane bent over her laptop, the words blurring as she got too close. She typed fervently her thoughts on the most recent data, ignoring all spelling and grammatical errors. One of the movie's few quiet scenes started and of course Darcy chose that moment to complain to 'herself' about what a party pooper and workaholic her dear boss was.

"Once I get my bridge up and running, the last thing you'll be calling me is a party pooper," Jane said.

"But you _are_ a workaholic?"

Jane took a long, deep breath. "Darcy, I appreciate your hard work and I'm happy to have you as an intern, but can you please watch something quieter?"

Darcy rolled her eyes before performing the arduous task of grabbing the remote control from the armrest. "I've already seen this movie anyway."

The front door opened, admitting a pale and disheveled Erik Selvig. He carried several thick folders under his arm and went immediately to the kitchen as Jane pulled up the web page containing the newest figures. As he got closer, his weary state became more apparent; his shirt wasn't buttoned correctly and he still had bed hair.

"Are you okay, Erik?" Jane asked.

His head jerked up. "Oh, there you are, Jane. Yes, I'm fine. Just need some coffee."

There was none left, but that coffee maker worked like it ran on rocket fuel. Two minutes later, Erik gulped down a freshly brewed cup and then retreated to the bathroom to wash up. He returned with wet hair and his same clothes on, but his eyes were fully open and his skin a healthier shade. He grabbed some more coffee before walking to her station.

"Hits the spot, doesn't it?" Jane said.

"I'm starting to appreciate SHIELD a lot more, that's for sure."

Jane frowned but said nothing. She tapped a few keys to bring up her star map. "Okay, so this is what I've been working on today. There haven't been any abnormal weather patterns since the last time the bridge opened, but by taking the data we already have, I think it's possible to isolate a possible origin point for the wormhole. Once we have that, we can track its progress."

"That's a bit ambitious for a week's worth of research," said Erik.

"Do you know who I am?" Jane smiled and reached across the table. "I already have a prototype in the works. It's just for channeling right now, meant to measure the atmospheric density. I did a test run last week when we had that sandstorm, and it picked up some interesting readings."

Erik looked like he wanted to kiss her. "Jane, you have brought me to shame again. I wish I could say I've been working half as hard on my research."

 _'That's why I told you not to take SHIELD's offer,'_ Jane thought. They'd already had that argument more times than she could count, so she kept the remark to herself for now. "I know it's a big statement to make, but based on my findings, I think we could have a workable model bridge within a year."

Erik nodded. "That _is_ a huge statement. Way too huge for someone still working in the desert."

"Just because I took SHIELD's money doesn't mean they own me," Jane said. She opened the back of her handheld transmitter to check the wires one more time.

"I wish you'd be a little more trusting, Jane," Erik sighed. "I know their methods leave a lot to be desired, but when it comes down to it, they are working towards the greater go-"

"So, I've been doing a little extra reading." Jane rolled her swivel chair over to the stack of library books on the other end of her worktable. Most were marked up with colored post-it notes. Jane grabbed the one on top of the pile and wheeled back to Erik. "Just covering my bases; making sure there are no stones unturned when we start construction."

Erik read over her shoulder, his eyebrows shooting into his receding hairline. "Time travel? Don't you think that's a bit of a stretch?"

"We're talking about interrupting spacetime, Erik," Jane said, flipping to a chapter all the way in the back. "If there's even the slightest possibility of aggravating the flow of time, I want to know about it."

"But there is a difference between traveling to another world that exists in the same plane as us and traveling to a point of time in the past or future," said Erik.

"I'm not just talking about Back to the Future here. We don't know for sure if time on Asgard flows the same way it does on earth. What if Thor is only as old as he is because time moves so slowly in his realm that a year here is a century there?"

"If that were the case, Norse Mythology wouldn't exist."

"Unless he's even older than that. He could be thousands of years old for all we know. That means if one of us goes to Asgard and stays for a year their time, we could return and find ourselves in the twenty-fifth century."

"HASTA LA VISTA BABY!"

Gunfire rang through the air, making Jane jump and Erik clutch his chest. "DARCY!"

Darcy threw up her hands. "Sorry. I didn't know it was turned up that high."

"I'm going to throw that TV out the window as soon as she's asleep," Jane whispered to Erik. "And then I'm going to find the biggest rock I can and smash it to pieces."

"Just try not to wake her when you do it," Erik said.

"I can hear you in there!" Darcy shouted. She'd flipped channels once again and was now watching a news report. Fine by Jane. So long as it was quiet.

"Wouldn't it be interesting if we did figure out time travel in the middle of this?" Jane remarked. She read a few lines of Einstein's theories, completing every sentence in her head before she got to it.

"I'd go back to second grade and stop that one kid from pushing me in the mud on picture day," Darcy said. "Little bastard ruined my dress."

Trust Darcy to use the untapped power of the universe for revenge on a schoolyard bully.

"Let's focus first on what we already know is possible," said Erik. "Okay, Jane, last I checked, you were working on schematics for the bridge generator."

"I have a rough draft." Jane searched her endless list of folders for the file. "I'm still working out the logistics. My remote transmitter is part of it. It connects to a larger unit I have on the roof for redirecting atmospheric current."

"When did you build that?" Erik asked.

"Last Friday," Jane replied.

"It's Monday."

"I have a lot of free time on my hands."

"You're supposed to spend that time sleeping."

"Hey, super scientists!" Darcy's exclamation cut through the air, pulling Jane back to reality. She was ready to scold her intern again, but Darcy didn't give her a chance. "Sorry to interrupt, but you might want to rethink that whole 'time travel isn't real' thing."

On TV was an old black and white newsreel. The image was grainy, showing a group of men in military uniforms and combat gear, standing around a map making battle plans as patriotic music played over them. Nothing says America like going to war and shooting the Nazis. Indeed, the next shot showed a man in a star-spangled outfit knocking a sniper out of the trees with a shield he threw like a Frisbee. Another man in a more modest blue jacket fired took out three more with a sniper rifle. The last man standing fell to the shield as it ricocheted off an armored car and slammed into the back of his head.

"You interrupted us to watch a World War II documentary," said Jane.

"This isn't a documentary," Darcy said. "You're not going to believe this, but they just found Captain America _._ "

She was right. Jane didn't believe it. Neither did Erik.

"It's been seventy years since he died, Darcy. If they found anything, it's probably just scraps of the plane he went down in."

"Au contraire, my friend." Darcy pointed at the screen with great flourish, all too happy to prove the scientist wrong. "They found him, and they found him _alive_."

The newsreel changed to a pair of modern reporters, all pearly whites and coiffed hair, talking over an exceptionally large lower third: _'Scientists recover cryogenically preserved Captain America. America's favorite son lives on!'_

"We're being told now that Captain Rogers has woken up and is fully lucid. No word yet on where he is currently being held for debriefing or how he survived for so long under the ice. Scientists are currently speculating that the physical enhancements to his body may have been a contributing factor. So far, no official examination report has been released to the public. We'll keep you up to date as this incredible story unfolds. Until then, let's go back to our special retrospective of an American hero!"

"I'll be damned," said Erik, shaking his head. "They really found him."

"And he's alive," Darcy said like they hadn't just heard it from her and the TV five times. "Imagine, THE Captain America, here in our modern technological age. I should check twitter. It's must be trending like crazy."

She whipped out her phone, typing away without a care in the world. The film reels had resumed and now showed Captain America posing with his team of elite soldiers. Now there was something familiar. If Jane thought hard, she could almost go back to those far-off days of eleventh grade American history. The way her teacher endlessly lectured them about Normandy and D-Day while she snuck an Intro to Astrophysics text over her notebook. The study of the past would never compare for Jane to the study of what was and what might someday be. Maybe that was why she still didn't know Captain America's real name despite him being the mancrush of every history buff she'd ever met.

"Wow, there's already a poll going around on which photo showcases his ass best. I'm thinking… six? No, eight. Definitely eight, but six is a close second."

And Darcy apparently.

Her voice faded into the background as the documentary progressed to a scene of the Howling Commandoes at an award ceremony. They all stood in a line at attention, a politician pinning medals to their jackets. There was that man again, the one who'd been fighting with Captain America. He wore a standard uniform this time. He looked like a ranking officer. Maybe a sergeant or something. He was handsome, too. At least as far as Jane could tell from the blurry, colorless footage.

As he received his medal, something off camera caught his attention. He turned away from the camera. It suddenly didn't matter in the slightest that he was being filmed. His face split into a massive grin that made the skin around his eyes crinkle. His compatriots were consummate professionals, meeting their official reward for their services with a 'Thank you sir' and 'It's an honor sir'. When this man was thanked, he said nothing. He never turned his head back. Whoever he was looking at had to mean the world to him. Jane's heart skipped a beat, at which point she remembered that this video was seventy years old and she was way too old to get flustered over a pretty face.

Okay, well, she'd been flustered over Thor, but that was different. Thor was part of a mystery she'd dedicated her life to solving. Who wouldn't be giggly over that?

"All right, this was fun, but I need to get back to work." Jane followed her proclamation by marching back to her desk after a quick detour to get more coffee.

"Always work, work, work with her," Darcy complained to Erik as if that would help. "If you ask me, she needs a vacation."

"I'll take a vacation when my bridge is complete," Jane said. She picked up her transmitter and held it up to the gentle breeze flowing in through the window.

"Just promise me when you find your guy, you'll get yourself laid as soon as possible," Darcy said. "Because no offense, Jane, but you need it."

"No offense taken," Jane muttered. She tapped on the screen. The transmitter was taking an extra six seconds to complete calculations. "I'm going to do some program rewrites tomorrow. Make sure all the measurements are correct. The goal is to have one of these ten times bigger and a hundred times stronger."

"Well, you're off to a good start. Now we need a way to stabilize the wormhole."

"That's next on my agenda." Jane searched her computer for the files on stabilization. They were far scarcer, as she hadn't had time yet to determine how they would regulate the current to allow for safe travel. She'd seen Asgard's Bifrost exactly twice, and the first time she'd missed all the good parts thanks to her foolish belief that it was just an ordinary storm. "We're going to have to put a lot more hours into this. The last thing we want is to end up stranded in some far-off corner of the universe."

"Or stuck in the past," said Darcy. "Imagine having to take the slow way back."

"We're not talking about time travel anymore, Darcy," said Erik. "I know this whole thing with Captain America is exciting, but there's a big difference between cryogenics and time machine Toyotas."

"It was a DeLorean. Have you even seen that movie?"

Erik didn't dignify that with a response, but as Jane typed in a few numbers and found nothing but roadblocks and missteps, she almost wished he would.

"It would be something else if we managed it," she thought aloud, drumming her fingers on the keyboard. "You ever thought about what you'd do if you could go back in time, Erik?"

She expected him to sigh again like an overworked parent and have nothing to say except that it was time to get their heads out of the clouds and back to their real work. While he did sigh and he did pull up a chair next to her, the next words out of his mouth had nothing to do with trans-dimensional bridge manufacturing.

"Emily…"

Jane blinked. "What?"

Erik, who'd been staring wistfully out the window, shook his head. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking… about an old friend of mine."

"Erik's got a girlfriend," Darcy sang.

Jane glared at her, which only made Darcy hum more quietly.

"Well, yes, she was my girlfriend in college," Erik coughed and loosened his collar. "She was a botany student at the University where I did my undergraduate. We were together for a while, but eventually, I realized it wasn't going to work. She wanted marriage and stability, and I wanted to travel. She was doing well last I heard. Her husband's a small town lawyer."

"And you wish you could go back and do things differently?" asked Jane. "Try to make things work with Emily?"

"If I did that, it would erase her children," said Erik. "It would erase all of my accomplishments. I wouldn't have been there all the times you needed me." He patted her hand, a gesture, funnily enough, that reminded Jane of her father. "I don't believe in a higher power, Jane, but I do believe we all have a path in life. Maybe I wish I could've had more time with Emily, but I cherish what we did have. I wouldn't change it for anything. That's why you shouldn't worry about the past. Now's the time to look towards the future."

"Nice fortune cookie wisdom there, Erik!" Darcy shouted. The special report on Captain America had come to an end, and she was back to channel surfing. Every other station seemed to be running another action movie or a rock concert.

"Tonight," Jane said through grit teeth. "Tonight, I _swear_."

Erik helpfully placed himself between Jane and her view of Darcy. "Anyway, did you get the letter from SHIELD's science division about the latest grant payout?"

"It's on the coffee table. I only skimmed it. Why? Is there a problem?"

"They just need you to sign a couple of things," said Erik. "Darcy, could you hand it to me?"

"Sure thing." She snatched up the white envelope with the official looking seal on the back. It had been ripped carelessly as Jane was never one to use letter openers. The fact that a super hi-tech secret agency like SHIELD still used snail mail had been a never-ending source of bafflement. Before giving the letter to Erik like a good intern, Darcy took it upon herself to inspect the return address. "What the hell is 'Cinderhouse'? I thought this came from SHIELD."

"Cinderhouse is the name of the building where they conduct astrophysical research," said Jane.

"That's weird. I would've expected something more science-y."

"I don't know. I didn't pick it." Jane got up to retrieve the letter herself, as Darcy's inaction made it clear she intended to remain a couch potato for the rest of the evening.

She did, at least, turn the TV off and switch to texting her friends. The frequent yet soft tapping of keys was a boon on Jane's abused eardrums. From there, it wasn't long before she and Erik fell into the zone, writing out new equations and calculations for the next step in creating Earth's Bifrost. They didn't speak much, working in synchronicity well into the night. The moon was high in the sky by the time Erik started yawning.

"I think I'm going to turn in," he said.

Jane checked the clock. It was barely midnight. "Already?"

"I'm not as young as I used to be, you know," he said. "You should get some sleep, too. I mean it this time."

It was a good thing Darcy had been snoring on the couch for the last two hours. Otherwise, this conversation would go on forever and then Jane wouldn't work or sleep. It was a lose-lose situation all around.

"I'll try," she promised. If Erik doubted her word, he was too tired to say so. He patted her shoulder and retired to his room for the night.

Without him to bounce ideas off or Darcy to bug her, the minutes dragged on and Jane found herself closing her eyes to 'think' more and more. She pressed on regardless, the answer to her most recent problem on the tip of her tongue. She just knew it was. She solved it in five minutes and then spent the next five writing the same set of numbers out three times in the same formula. Maybe it _was_ time for her to get some rest.

Jane turned off all the lights and set her computer to sleep mode. Then she left her tiny lab and crossed the sand to reach her trailer. The wind blew in her face making her hair whip around in her eyes. She lowered her head and ran the rest of the way. The forecast hadn't said anything about a storm brewing. It would probably be even worse on the roof with her generator model, and yet that was exactly where Jane found herself a half an hour later.

Somehow, a plastic lounge chair was more comfortable than a bed. Not that the spring filled lump in her trailer should ever be counted as such, but at least it had a mattress. Still, Jane was a night owl at heart. In college, she had to take all evening classes due to her nightly stargazing sessions that had her sleeping in until well past noon. If Erik was any indication, this was not a habit that faded with age. It made more sense for her to sleep sitting up, just in case some abnormal readings came in and she had to be awake and ready in a hurry.

It was a warm night, but not too warm. The wind brought with it a cool breeze that felt like heaven on her skin. She liked to think, after living in Puente Antiguo for close to a year, that she'd adjusted to the arid climate. Then she remembered Izzy, who had been here for most of her life. She was always wishing for a great flood to come and wash over the town.

Another gust of wind activated the motion sensor in Jane's transmitter. As it was calculating, she counted backward from ten. By the time she reached one, it should be finished.

"Three… two… one… one-half… one-third… one-quarter…"

It beeped approximately three seconds later, flashing 'DATA INCONCLUSIVE' like the mocking sneer of an old professor.

"Of course…" Jane dropped her arm to her side, letting the transmitter slip between her fingers. She glanced at the generator prototype, but apart from confirming the smaller module's lack of confirmation, it remained inactive.

With nothing else to do until morning, Jane laid back to watch the stars. Every time she longed for a decent Chinese food place or a proper library, she remembered the Puente Antiguo sky, bigger and more beautiful than anywhere else. The thousands of stars forming constellations she'd know with her eyes closed. This was what made it all worth it. This was why she never left even when everyone doubted her, and thank goodness for that.

It was strange to think how drastically things had changed since Thor arrived. Now she had more funding than she knew what to do with and a real shot at achieving her dreams. That it would be done under the government's thumb and she'd likely spend decades fighting her way through political red tape and bureaucracy was a matter for another day. For now, Jane's thoughts were consumed by the cacophony of new worlds they would find. She still had Thor's drawing of Yggdrasil, but as extensive as he made it sound, there had to be more to it. More than even the Aesir knew. So much it would make her head spin.

To think, she was going to be the one to open the door to the universe for all of humanity. At least in theory.

Because again, red tape.

Jane's eyes grew heavy again. Just when she thought she'd staved off the need for sleep. The last time she slept up here, it was with Thor beside her. It had been a nice night. A real eye-opener, and not just in scientific terms. Jane hadn't had a relationship since Donald Blake, nor had she ever kissed a man she barely knew. A swinging party girl, she was not, but Thor just had a way about him. That puppylike sweetness even before he turned out to be an actual Norse god. She didn't think anyone could've resisted that.

It left her with one more bullet point on the list of things to seriously consider at some point other than now. What their relationship could be without the intense, life or death situations. If they just sat down together and did nothing but talk. Could it be like that night in front of the fire before the chaos of the next day? Or would they find that there was nothing keeping them together beyond circumstance?

She'd never cared for fairy tale princes when she was a kid. She thought that if she ever fell in love it would be with someone like her. Someone normal. Someone like that man in the old newsreel.

 _'Just watch the stars, Jane,'_ she told herself, her eyes fluttering and her thoughts clouding. _'Just… watch the…'_

The cry of several mechanical whines in perfect congress preceded a clap of thunder. Jane rolled off her deck chair with a shriek of surprise. She got tangled in her blanket, one end caught under her foot creating a pocket around it. So much for being ready in a hurry.

"What the hell?" Jane mumbled, rubbing her head. "Must've fallen asleep."

She got free of the blanket and grabbed her transmitter. It was still nighttime, perhaps a little closer to dawn. There was no sun visible on the horizon but there wouldn't be. Not with the thick, gray storm clouds forming overhead.

"Are you kidding me?" Jane moaned as the first drop of rain smacked her forehead.

If nothing else, she could comfort herself knowing that all her new equipment was waterproof. The transmitter had started up again, beeping furiously as it processed more data than the hard drive could process. The wind knocked her back a step, rainfall building in intensity as lightning flashed. Jane threw the blanket over her head, but it was already soaked and provided little protection. The base generator was going haywire. This was the first time it had ever been out in a storm like this, and for all that logic dictated she should go downstairs immediately, Jane did not budge. She held the transmitter over her head, trying to get a better signal. The influx of information slowed it down even more, but as long as it didn't short circuit, that was fine with her. A successful test run and some substantial data would make a few days of runny noses and chicken soup well worth it.

A bolt of lightning struck in front of the building next door. It was there and gone in a flash, but Jane's transmitter caught every nanosecond. The readings spiked and the device grew hot in her hand, but that was nothing compared to the base generator. It was working at a speed that seemed unreal even for a supercomputer. Every light was turned on, the screen blowing up with numbers. From far away, it would look like a professional light show, and Jane had to cover her eyes before she was blinded.

The next lightning strike made it a moot point. Like time had stopped, she followed its path from the sky to the main antenna of her base generator. Thunder roared like gunfire, the wind throwing her this way and that. The blanket whipped off Jane's shoulders into the air. She squeezed her transmitter with a white knuckled grip as it continued to pulse and screech.

Sparks exploded from the generator. Jane fell back to avoid them. Her sharp labored breaths seemed thicker than they should be. Almost like two voices layered on top of each other. Then someone's breath hitched. Someone who wasn't her.

Except when she looked into the wide brown eyes of the person now sharing the roof with her, it very much _was_ her. Same clothes, same face. Same rectangular remote pressed tightly between two hands.

"Wha-" Jane's throat closed. "What are you…"

The double was silent; she gave Jane not but a glance before lowering her eyes. They were the only thing unfamiliar to Jane. The color was the same, but they were older. Like she knew something Jane didn't. Jane never had a chance to find out which it was. Every single light on the base generator flashed, making a noise she knew she hadn't programmed it to make. Endless numbers flashed across her transmitter's screen as it connected wirelessly to the generator. What happened next defied every bit of scientific knowledge Jane possessed, but the burst of light engulfed her body, pulling the world out from under her feet. Then she was falling.

Falling…

Falling…

Falling…

The light vanished, and the thunderstorm went with it. Jane was on her back watching the stars again. They danced in circles for her, so pretty and bright and far away. Much farther than they'd been a second ago. Why wasn't she on the roof anymore? Maybe that light combined with the wind had forced her over the ledge. It would've made perfect sense if she could see her lab.

In fact, most of the buildings that should've been in her peripheral vision weren't there. She thought about turning her head, but none of her muscles would obey her. Her whole body was stiff and ached like she'd been hit by a truck. Fortunately, she wasn't alone. Someone was coming closer and shouting at her. Jane opened her mouth and a weak hiss issued forth. Just enough to let them know she was alive. That would have to do for now. Her head was killing her and she clearly hadn't gotten enough sleep before that pesky thunderstorm showed up. She should close her eyes for a minute.

Yeah, just one minute.

* * *

"Hello? Can you hear me?" She shook the woman's prone body, waving a hand in her face to gauge a reaction. She wouldn't get one and she knew it. The woman was alive but out cold. One couldn't blame her for trying, though. "Miss, are you all right?"

In between attempts to rouse the mystery woman, she checked once or twice that the massive white light she'd dropped down from hadn't returned. How such a phenomenal and extraterrestrial event hadn't woken anyone up was beyond her. She should be hearing the alarms galore by now. There should be a dozen soldiers rushing out in their pajamas, weapons drawn and ready for battle. Hell, she'd been ready to open fire before the woman appeared. The woman in men's clothes who, upon further inspection, carried identification listing a birthdate that wouldn't occur for another thirty-eight years.

To think, this was supposed to be Peggy's night off.


	2. Somewhere In Time

**A/N: So glad everyone enjoyed chapter one. Here's chapter two!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Something soft and scratchy rubbed against Jane's skin. She turned to lay on her opposite side, but the lumps in her mobile home mattress had gone completely out of whack. That one loose spring was no longer poking her armpit, and unless she was imagining it, there were bits of straw sticking out of the sides. Trust Darcy to get extra creative with her pranks. As soon as Jane got up, she was giving that girl a piece of her mind. First that stupid TV, now this. No wonder Jane had to go to the roof last night and clear her head-

 _She'd been on the roof. And then that storm, and then her machine, and then-_

Jane catapulted out of bed. Her surroundings were in no way familiar to her. A square shaped ten by ten office with no equipment, no tools, not even a clock. No way of knowing the time of day or how long she'd been unconscious or where she even was.

"Calm down, Jane," she said, rubbing the sand from her eyes. "Think. You're a scientist and you can figure this out. Just stay calm and focus."

The room had few distinguishing features. The glow of a kerosene lamp cast a dim light around walls painted murky brown. The general clutter, while extensive, gave her little by way of who worked here. Stacks upon stacks of files weighed down a wooden desk that had seen better days. A woman's coat hung from a nail embedded in the wall. Old time war propaganda posters adorned the few portions of wall not hidden by boxes. The whole place screamed 'temporary living conditions' but to Jane's increasing alarm, that was all it said.

"Have to calm down. Have to think…"

"That's always a good idea." A woman Jane had never seen before came in. She was around her age, brown hair and eyes, probably taller than her, and dressed in feminine business attire that wouldn't be out of place in a WWII museum.

In fact, now that she thought about it, everything in this room looked like it came out of a museum, right down to the wall calendar hanging over the woman's shoulder.

"What's going on?" She put her head in her hands, wishing she could feel the roof beneath her instead of itchy straw.

"I was rather hoping you could tell me," said the woman, her British accent lent a soothing quality to her voice. It reminded Jane of her grandmother. "Are you hungry? I couldn't get much from the mess hall, but I did manage to sneak this."

She held out a peanut butter sandwich on white bread, Jane's least favorite kind of bread. Her stomach rumbled regardless. She'd skipped lunch yesterday and only ate half her dinner. Thanking the woman, she took a bite of the nearly stale bread and it almost tasted good. "How long was I out?"

The woman checked her watch, her very old-fashioned watch. "A few hours. It was past midnight when I found you. How are you feeling? Any headaches?"

Jane's head felt like someone had pulled it off, shook it like a soda can, and then stuck it back on her neck. "I'm fine. Just confused. I don't know what happened last night and I don't like not knowing things."

The woman nodded sympathetically. "Well, my name is Margaret Carter, Peggy for short. Currently, you're on the New Mexico military base. I couldn't tell you how you got here as I'm not entirely sure myself."

All Jane remembered after the storm and seeing her double was falling. She'd fallen endlessly into the void. By the time she landed she was either already knocked out or too dazed to commit anything to memory. If she thought hard, a voice like Peggy's poked through the fog.

"My generator," Jane muttered. "It went off. I think it malfunctioned. The lightning…" Her head throbbed again.

"Are you sure you don't need an aspirin?" asked Peggy.

"No, thank you," said Jane, "Just give me a minute."

Jane threw off the blanket to find herself dressed barring her shoes. Her blue jeans and plaid shirt clashed horribly with the drab browns and whites of the office. She checked her pocket to find it empty, but when she looked up, Peggy had her wallet in hand and an apologetic look on her face.

"Sorry, I did look inside," she said. "I normally wouldn't pry, but given you fell out of a hole in the sky in front of an active military base, it seemed pertinent."

"No problem." Jane took it back. She didn't bother checking the contents. All she had in there was her ID, a library card, and a credit card that expired last month. All her cash was kept in her coat pockets or the lockbox in the bottom drawer of her desk.

"So with that in mind, we need to figure out what to do here, Ms. Foster," Peggy said.

"Doctor," Jane corrected automatically. "I'm a doctor of astrophysics. You can call me Jane, though."

Peggy appeared more than impressed and laced her fingers together in her lap. "All right then, Jane. Do you know what year it is?"

"I know what year it should be," Jane said, looking again at the calendar and then at Peggy's period clothes. "I have a feeling it isn't."

"Today is Tuesday, May 11th, 1943."

That settled it. The universe hated Jane Foster. For whatever reason, it had some kind of vendetta against her, and it was going to dangle all her hopes and dreams in front of her like cheese to a mouse, only to snatch it away at the last second. She met Thor and learned her theories were correct, and then he disappeared, taking the magic with him. She built her first prototype generator and got it through basic testing with a hitch, and then a stupid storm scrambled the circuits and sent her back in time.

Boy, wouldn't Darcy love hearing about this?

Assuming Jane found a way back to the present which was unlikely without her-

"By the way, you had this with you when you fell." Peggy picked up the remote transmitter off the floor. It had scuff marks down one side and the screen was cracked, but it was the most perfect thing Jane had ever seen.

"Oh thank God," Jane snatched it up and hugged it to her chest. "Thank God thank God thank God. I don't even believe in God, but thank God. Now I might be able to get home."

"Do you know how to make it work?"

Jane scoffed at Peggy. "I'll have you know I built it myself. I know exactly how to use it."

She pressed a button, which immediately popped out. Along with every other button on the console. Also, the battery appeared to be dead, and when she opened the back cover, it was welded to the spring.

Though Peggy didn't laugh, Jane could see it in her eyes. She scowled at the remote. "I _will_ know how to use it once I fix it."

"Just so we're clear," said Peggy, "I'm to assume you're from the future."

Somehow, Jane had forgotten Peggy could hear every word of her musings. It was a good thing she hadn't blurted out anything about Thor or Asgard or else this conversation would be even more painful. "Er- yes, I am… which I know sounds crazy, but-"

Peggy held up a hand. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe it, but seeing as I did, I'd be a fool to deny it."

"You're taking this incredibly well," said Jane. If it was her, she'd be screaming by now.

"I'm a special intelligence agent," said Peggy. "I've seen and heard things you couldn't begin to imagine. This might not be quite in the same vein, but I've learned to expect the unexpected."

You don't get more unexpected than spontaneous time travelers.

"I guess that solves one problem," said Jane. Outside, the sun was just rising, and a jaunty rendition of Reveille had awoken the sleeping soldiers for another day of fighting Nazis.

Because this was 1943, the middle of World War II.

She was in 1943…

"Are you all right?" Peggy asked, concern washing over her. "You're looking very pale."

"I'm fine!" Jane's voice broke. "Just fine. Processing. Processing a lot. Not every day I wake up seventy years in the past."

"If it helps," Peggy said, her words measured like she was containing a healthy freak out of her own, "It's not every day I meet someone from seventy years in the future."

Jane chuckled. She had a feeling she was going to like Peggy Carter. If nothing else, she had that going for her. She could've been found by some hard-nosed drill sergeant type who would disbelieve her story have her carted off to the nuthouse. The kind where mild depression was cured with lobotomies and the bathroom was whatever spot of the floor was cleanest. Or maybe she'd be pegged as a German spy and they'd chain her up and interrogate her for Nazi secrets. Secrets she couldn't give because seventy years from now, that would not be part of the curriculum for high school American History classes.

"Okay," Jane rubbed her temples as if that would banish all intrusive thoughts to the pit from whence they came. "No one else can find out about this."

"I agree," Peggy said, patting a trunk next to her. "Though if you wish to blend in, I'd suggest a wardrobe change."

She waited outside as Jane buttoned up a clean blouse and tucked the ends into a knee length skirt. Her clothes went into a burlap sack which was then shoved into the corner of Peggy's trunk under five more identical shirts. Her hair she pulled into a lopsided bun and secured with a pin. The only mirror in the room was too small to give her a full-length view of herself, but from the shoulders up, her new forties look was approaching passable.

"Done?" Peggy asked, peeking in.

"Mostly," Jane said, adjusting the shirt. It hung loosely over her chest in a way Peggy would never have to worry about. "There are certain undergarments I don't think we could share. And I won't lie, I haven't felt this kind of inadequacy since high school."

Peggy smiled. "We can get whatever you need in town. I'll be in filing paperwork all morning, but afterward, my schedule is clear."

"That would be great," Jane said before another thought gave her pause. "Unless we shouldn't. I'm not supposed to be in this time period. Anything I do or say or touch could drastically change the course of history!"

"You're already wearing my clothes," Peggy remarked.

'And me wearing your clothes may have drastically changed history!" Jane paced around the room, as much as the cramped space would allow. "I only got here because of a freak accident. I don't know how time travel works. No one does! All anyone's ever had is theories. If multiverse theory is true, then maybe I've created a new timeline split off from the old one. Or maybe I didn't go to the past but rather I entered an alternate universe where the second world war is still ongoing. And if this is the same universe, any mistake I make could erase my own existence! I might just solve the grandfather paradox if I'm not careful."

"The what?"

"Another theory," Jane explained, not slowing her step. "The idea is that if you went back in time, you wouldn't be able to kill your grandfather because then you'd never be born, and if you were never born, then you couldn't have gone back in time and killed your grandfather in the first place."

Peggy blinked a few times. "Were you _intending_ to murder your grandfather while you're here?"

Jane's shoulders sagged. "Okay, but there's no telling how my presence in the past will affect the future. My best bet is to lay low and devote all my energy to getting home ASAP."

"I'm happy to help however I can," said Peggy. She pulled a jacket off a nail hammered halfway into the wall and threw it around Jane, who stuck her arms through the sleeves without complaint. "There. My shirt will look more like it fits you with this over it. By the way, what is 'asap'?"

Jane's eyes bulged out of her skull. "You don't have that expression yet? Oh… oh no. _Oh my God-_ "

"Relax!" Peggy ordered. "I won't ask again and I won't repeat it. I don't know so much about time mechanics as you, but I'm fairly certain if something had changed, we would know by now."

Jane could have argued that the rule of time over all life and matter meant any changes to the larger world would also come with altered memories. That tomorrow she could wake up with two extra toes, antennas, and green skin and think nothing was different. But the weight of her situation had come down like a block of solid concrete to her chest, and nothing sounded better to her than a good night sleep. Preferably with alcohol in her system, and lots of it.

 _'Darcy was right, I should've just gone out and gotten drunk,'_ Jane thought miserably. _'Now I'm in nineteen goddamn forty-three.'_

She sunk onto the bed, bunches of rough straw jabbing her in the behind. Her energy drained, she didn't bother scootching over. With her luck, she'd just land on something sharper. She grabbed her unfinished sandwich and ate it in two bites, washing it down with a glass of water helpfully provided by Peggy.

 _'Eating that sandwich changed the future,'_ her inner voice whispered. _'Someone else was supposed to use that bread. Maybe it was the last of the loaf. Maybe they were starving to death. Maybe they're dead because they had nothing to eat. Congratulations Jane, you just potentially eliminated someone's children and grandchildren."_

"Peggy, was there more bread where you got this?" Jane asked, hating herself for the stupidity of the question.

"We have a whole shelf full in the mess hall. Plenty to go around."

Jane sighed with relief-

"That was the last of the peanut butter, though."

-and moaned in agony.

"All right, now that you look the part, we have to figure out where you're going to stay." Peggy placed her hands in her lap, her posture flawless in a way Jane's very British mother had tried and failed to instill in her daughter.

Jane slouched over. "I guess I can't hide in the closet."

"I have an apartment, but it's back in London. Much too far to travel with a stowaway. Are you sure you can't interact with anyone?"

And there was the painful truth staring Jane right in the face. The truth all scientists had to face at least once, if not multiple times, in their careers. "I don't know. I honestly have no idea. I've already talked to you and nothing's happened. Nothing I know about anyway."

"Well, fortunately, I'm not meant to leave this base until the end of the week," said Peggy. "As long as no one sees you, that should give us enough time to come up with a plan."

The door swung open, admitting a middle-aged man in a decorated uniform. He carried with him an unoppressive but powerful aura of authority, helped by his far greater height and the rough lines of an aging face. "Agent Carter, we've received word from Dr. Erskine. Our base at Camp Lehigh is up and running. Have your bags packed by 0500 tomorrow. We won't be back." He turned abruptly to Jane, his eyes dark and hawk-like. "Who are you?"

If Jane didn't have a face for her scary analytical drill sergeant before, she did now. Her arms snapped to her sides, awaiting the straitjacket he would inevitably request. Peggy wasn't much better off. In the short time she'd known her, Jane's impression of Peggy was that she was used to being in control, be it over others or her own emotions. She embodied Stiff Upper Lip to a T, and unlike some of her mother's old friends, it never came off as a pose. There were two sides to every person, though, and all that grace had melted away. Peggy was as speechless as Jane, better only in that she recovered first.

"Colonel Phillips," she said, placing herself between the man and Jane. "I beg your pardon, but I wasn't expecting you until after your meeting with the Brass."

"It was cut short," Colonel Phillips said, eyes narrowing. "Sorry for interrupting your little get together, Agent, but I wasn't aware you'd be bringing civilians onto a restricted army base against regulations."

"Sir, allow me to explain-"

Jane would never know what kind of half-baked lie Peggy had cooked up to magically make this go away. Her mind rushed along a mile a minute. She was running on autopilot, standing up and clearing her throat and putting on her most professional face long before her conscious mind had processed 'stand'.

"I can see you're busy, Agent Carter, so I think I'll go and get a jump on that filing now." Her mother's voice sounded in the back of her skull. Johanna Foster lived in America for twenty-six years, but she never lost her thick Scouse accent. Jane's imitation of it was middling at best, but under this kind of pressure, she'd dare the greatest actor in the world to do better.

She moved to the door, fully expecting to be stopped. Within two steps, the colonel's arm had blocked her. "You didn't answer my question," he said.

Jane swallowed. She brought a hand to her mouth. "Oh dear, where are my manners? Forgive me, Colonel Phillips, I am Jane…" _'Not your real name! Make something up! HURRY!'_ "Cinderhouse. Jane Cinderhouse."

He raised an eyebrow. "Jane Cinderhouse."

"Yes sir," she saluted, in the process nearly smacking him in the face. Mortification burned a deep hole in her stomach as she went on. "I've just been appointed Agent Carter's new administrative assistant. It's an honor to meet you."

"Likewise," Phillips said, shaking her hand. When that skin to skin contact didn't tear the space-time continuum apart, Jane breathed a little easier, but they weren't out of the woods yet. "I wasn't informed Agent Carter was getting a new assistant."

"Ms. Cinderhouse received her assignment this morning," Peggy interjected, slipping into the scene like every word she said was cold hard fact. "I'm surprised our colleagues in the SSR didn't tell you. Would you like me to make some calls?"

"I can do that myself," said Phillips. He hadn't taken his eyes off Jane, and she knew he was sizing her up. Seeing if she had what it took to make it in a high-stress military environment. Two months ago, that would've been a big fat N-O, but after surviving Norse gods and alien robot attacks, World War II would be a cake walk.

 _'I hope…'_

"I'm pleased to be working alongside such distinguished officers as yourself and Agent Carter, Colonel Phillips."

"Happy to serve your country, you mean."

"Yes sir," Jane almost lost the British inflection there and coughed to cover it. Phillips had yet to cease his appraisal of her, even as he backed out of the room and spoke to Peggy:

"I'll be waiting for a report on Ms. Cinderhouse's credentials. If I don't have it by the time we reach Camp Lehigh, you and I are going to have words."

"Understood," said Peggy.

His steps were heavy as they disappeared down the hall. Jane fell back on the mattress, no longer caring if it wanted to beat her up. It was suddenly and for the next five seconds the most comfortable bed in the world. "That could've been better, but it also could've been worse. I'd count that as a win."

"For now," said Peggy, opening the door a crack and looking out. When she was satisfied there would be no more unwanted visitors, she closed and locked it. "Where on earth did you get _cinderhouse_ from?"

"Let's just say it's as weird in my time as it is here."

"Fair enough," Peggy nodded. "Good work thinking on your feet, but you realize you've put yourself in a bind here. Colonel Phillips is a hard man to fool. If he thinks you're lying to him, he will get the truth out of you."

 _'And then I'll be put away,'_ Jane thought with a shiver. She'd forgotten all about that, and now her mind filled with images of padded cells and foot long needles and sadistic orderlies with no laws or ethics codes to stop them from doing what they pleased to the vulnerable patients.

"Fortunately, I have friends in the SSR who owe me favors," Peggy said, breaking Jane from her musing. "They can have all the documentation drawn up by the time we reach the East coast."

"But isn't that against the law?"

Peggy smiled in a way that reminded Jane how little she knew about this woman. "The only thing you have to worry about is how many cabinet drawers there are to sort through. That is if you wish to stick to this assistant story."

Jane shrugged. "Don't really have a choice, do I?"

Logic dictated that if her current interactions with people from the past hadn't destroyed the universe, any more to come would do no greater damage. Of course, she wouldn't know for sure until her remote was fixed, but for now, she dismissed the thought as negativity bias. Her sanity wouldn't last otherwise. As long as she kept her head down, didn't get buddy buddy with the soldiers, and avoided involvement in any major historical events, she'd be perfectly fine and home before the month was out.

Which meant she wouldn't get to live her grandma's dream of kicking Adolf Hitler in the balls.

Oh well. You can't have it all.


	3. Midnight In Brooklyn

When Jane was in high school, she did two summers interning with the State University's Astrophysical research department. At Culver, she worked with the Head of Physical Sciences three years in a row, in a job which consisted mainly of answering the phone and sending out group emails. It had been tedious, mind numbing work that afforded Jane more opportunities than one could shake a stick at. She looked back at it years later with a mixture of appreciation and disdain. She never wanted to be anyone's secretary again.

One week into working for Peggy, Jane's younger self had never seemed whinier.

When they arrived in New Jersey after a turbulent flight—during which Jane vowed never to complain about anal airport regulations again—a folder full of Jane Cinderhouse's credentials was waiting for them. Phillips read it carefully, his beady eyes flicking to Jane now and then. Each time felt like a giant invisible foot on her head.

"You come highly recommended from your previous post with Field Officer O'Connell," said Phillips.

Jane nodded along as Peggy had instructed. "Yes, I had a wonderful time working with Field Officer O'Connell. I was sad to leave, but such is life."

Phillips grunted and flipped the file closed. He placed it on his desk and fixed Jane with one final glare. "Welcome to Camp Lehigh, Ms. Cinderhouse. I trust you'll make yourself an asset to Agent Carter rather than a liability."

"Of course, Sir. I wouldn't dream of it, Sir."

Sir was a word she'd have to get used to. In her new bedroom, adjacent to Peggy's, she practiced her 'sir yes sirs' in front of the mirror for an hour before turning in at one in the morning. Four hours later, a blaring horn solo shocked her out of bed. Peggy had been watching by the door as Jane fought with her bedsheets, nearly suffocating herself as her sleep addled brain caught up with her body.

"Quite loud, isn't it?" Peggy said in her most normal tone as the siren roared on. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"It's five in the morning," Jane slurred. She tried getting up but a lack of balance had her falling on her face instead. "What twisted soul wakes up at five in the morning?"

"The kind that fights for freedom from tyranny and dictatorship," said Peggy without a hint of sympathy. "Now come along. There is much to do."

Such became their morning routine. Peggy had procured five sets of clothes for Jane—after swearing up and down that nothing in short supply had been taken—as well as some properly fitting undergarments. The cone shaped bras would take some getting used to, but at least they fit. Jane steadfastly refused to cut her hair beyond three inches, and so Peggy showed her how to put it up in a respectable bun. Taken with grey and brown clothes, the effect was frumpy at best and downright ugly at worst, but it wasn't like Jane was out to get dates.

Then came the actual work. Peggy had a small desk ready in her office. It was pushed against Peggy's to provide adequate leg room. On it was a set of black pens and some blank sheets of paper in a wire basket. Everything was new aside from the desk itself. The chipped paint and splintered wood told a few stories.

"Your job will be fairly simple," Peggy said as she gave Jane the grand tour. "You'll do all the filing, transcribe letters, answer the phone, and keep track of my schedule."

She opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a book thicker than Jane's fist. Paper scraps stuck out in all directions, single letters exposed which told Jane nothing of its contents. Peggy placed it in her hands. It was surprisingly light. Flipping through the pages, Jane found hundreds of crossed out to do lists dating back to 1940.

"All of our daily activities are to be logged in this book. I've marked where the next blank page is and today's list has been pre-written for you. It will be your responsibility to write it from here on in."

"Do I get your coffee, too?" Jane asked.

"That's not an official task for a secretary," Peggy said as she spun her chair around and sat down, "but if you'd like, I take two cubes of sugar and one spoonful of milk. Thank you."

"You're welcome…" Jane flipped through the book until she was three quarters in. Only then did she spy a blank page. She picked up a pen, relieved to find it was ballpoint. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Peggy slid a stack of folders onto Jane's desk. "File these please."

Thus, Jane took her first step into the world of the wartime secretary.

Whatever credentials Peggy's guy in SSR had listed for Jane 'Cinderhouse' were convincing enough that Colonel Phillips ceased questioning her and moved on to treating her like a wall decoration. Unless he had a message for Peggy, Jane was as important to him as a dust mite. That was fine. Most entry level assistants couldn't expect better from a superior's superior. Plus, if she was non-existent to those at the head of the war effort, her chances of changing the past plummeted.

During the day, she stayed at her desk and took letters until her hand cramped. She got up only to use the bathroom, get food, and deliver memos as needed. She spoke to no one. Men and women in uniform wished her good morning or good afternoon, and Jane never responded but to smile and let her eyes drop.

"That there's Ms. Cinderhouse, Agent Carter's new assistant," she'd once overheard a cook from the mess hall whisper to a young cadet. "She's a pretty one for sure, but she's shy. Never says a word to anyone."

Jane couldn't have asked for a better cover. Not that 'secretly a time traveler' would be anyone's first guess, but if everyone at the camp wrote her off as a wallflower, she'd never be expected to participate in anything beyond the parameters of Peggy's office. No one would ask her to sit with them at lunch, no overconfident recruit would try to flirt with her, no seated officer would overanalyze her performance thinking of transferring her to Alaska. She'd remain a blip on the radar, a background player in a larger struggle. When she went home, no one would miss her. No one would even notice she was gone. It was perfect!

And then Howard Stark came.

It was a week since Jane's arrival. The moon was out, Peggy's last meeting of the day was over, and Jane was awake only to brainstorm methods of fixing her transmitter. Five pages spread across her desk were sent to the floor as the door swung open, and a man Jane had never seen before entered.

"Evening, Agent Carter!" He was a dapper fellow, good looking in a finely tailored suit and matching hat. He had his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed like this was his living room. "Did you miss me?"

Peggy glanced at Jane, who was on her knees gathering papers, holding them flat to her chest. One landed algorithms up. Jane grabbed it as fast as she could, but their guest had a sharp eye.

"Are those numbers?"

"No," Jane said, resting the pages face down on her desk. "Just notes. For Agent Carter. I'm her new assistant."

The way he studied her was like a reversal of Colonel Phillips' interrogation. With a single onceover and no questions asked, he made his final judgment and shook her hand vigorously. "You must be Ms. Cinderhouse. Phillips told me about you."

"He did?" Jane asked. That didn't sound like the colonel she'd come to know.

"He said if Peggy wasn't around, I should leave a message with you. Also said you make good coffee."

Ah, now it made sense.

"Howard, while I'm thrilled to see you again," Peggy said, bringing the exchange to a merciful end, "you know better than to barge in unannounced."

He shrugged. "Couldn't resist. It's been far too long. Howard Stark, by the way," he directed that last part to Jane. "You might've heard of me."

Of course she had, though not at all in the way he thought. She put on her best smile for Tony Stark's dad and stepped back to let Peggy take the reigns.

"Was there something important you needed to discuss?" she asked.

He put on a serious face. "We're in a war, Peg. Everything's important…. By the way, I'm doing a presentation at the Expo next month and I could use a date. Feel like taking a night off?"

"But how could I in good conscience, Howard?" she walked around him, winking at Jane, who snickered. "We're in a war!"

Howard nodded with a self-depreciating smile. "Walked into that one, didn't I?"

Peggy nudged Jane, walking her back to her desk. Leaning in close, she whispered: "Don't mind Howard. He lives to ruffle feathers, but he's all talk in the end."

"By the way, Ms. Cinderhouse?" Jane turned, her face and stomach falling as Howard held up a single page covered in quantum equations. "You missed one."

Jane waited for Peggy to perform her magic and make the problem disappear with her powers of persuasion. How this could possibly be explained away, Jane didn't know. To her dismay, one look at Peggy told her neither did she.

"Uh…" Jane stammered. "That was just… I was just…"

"This math is highly advanced," Howard said. He read down the page, his brow furrowed. "I can't even understand half of it. Are you sure you're not a scientist?"

"I'm uh…" Jane glanced at Peggy one more time out of habit. "I dabble here and there. It's a hobby."

"This is a hobby?" Howard shook his head in disbelief. "I'm scared to find out what happens when you get serious. You know, my company's scientific research division is always looking for new members. How would you feel about a change of scenery?"

"No!" Jane and Peggy shouted, making Howard jump. As Jane's body relaxed and the spike of adrenaline passed, a burning heat spread over her cheeks and she cleared her throat audibly. "That is to say, thank you kindly for the offer, but I've already situated myself here and I'm not looking to leave Agent Carter's employment at this time."

Howard pursed his lips. "You sure? No offense meant to Agent Carter, but I doubt office work is all that stimulating for you."

Jane had a game she liked to play while working. Every time she completed twenty minutes' worth of filing, she crumpled up the remaining scrap paper into balls and tossed them into the garbage can across the room. If she made more baskets than she missed, a good omen would be placed on her which would make time move faster. She never made more than she missed.

"I find my job quite stimulating, thank you," she said. Howard might've believed it, but as he wasn't a brain dead monkey, she suspected he'd see right through her façade.

"You should at least come see what we're working on," he said. "Secretaries are still entitled to one day off a week, right?"

"We are?" Jane's head snapped to Peggy, then back again. "I mean, yes! We are. We are…"

"Jane is allowed time off if she so wishes, it's true," Peggy said. "Though I'm not sure-"

"Hey, didn't know you were her boss and her mom," Howard grinned. He clapped Jane on the shoulder. "Let me know when you're free. I'll take you on a tour of a lifetime. See if I can't convince you."

"But-"

"Because someone like you? Should really have 'doctor' before her name."

"I-"

"Anyway, I have to go talk to Phillips about weapons and stuff, but I'll stop by tomorrow so we can talk more. See you around, Doc!" Howard tossed the paper back at Jane and marched out the door, closing it behind him without another word.

A clock ticked over the window. Jane had no idea what time it was. Her and Peggy wore the same gobsmacked expression, most likely sharing the exact same thought as well.

Jane voiced it. "Did that just happen?"

"Unfortunately, while Howard Stark is many things, predictable isn't one of them." Peggy returned to her desk, vanishing behind another mountain of paperwork. "One never knows what he'll do. And once he gets an idea, it would take someone stronger than I to talk him down."

"That's great." Jane slid down the wall to the floor. Her dress would be covered in stains, but she didn't care. "Just great…"

Howard didn't come back the next day, and for a precious moment, Jane was at ease. Maybe he'd forgotten about her. The day after that, he surprised her at breakfast. Jane found herself being dragged to the front gates where a shiny red car awaited. With no one around who cared to stop him, he drove with Jane out of Jersey and into midtown Manhattan, talking the whole way about weapons development and something called 'Project Rebirth'. Jane spent the drive staring at her feet not making a sound, which impeded her hearing just enough that most of what he said was drowned out by the engine.

"…and _that's_ how we're going to win the war." He winked as they pulled up to a brown brick building on a street of identical brown brick buildings. "Here we are!"

They got out of the car. The city was ten shades of brown and five of white. There were no billboards, there was no hot dog kiosk, no performance artists with hats full of pennies. Nothing but a fish seller up the street and a hat seller on the corner.

"I know," Howard said, appearing in her side vision, "the city's an intimidating place if you're not a local."

 _'Give it a few years,'_ Jane thought.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you alone for one second," Howard said like some great chivalrous hero. "You ready to see what's inside?"

"Sure," Jane said, her enthusiasm only slightly fake. What little of Howard's speech on the ride over had penetrated her ears intrigued the scientist in her. Something about a hover car unless she'd heard wrong. Such things would remain a distant dream of the future in her time, but the thought of seeing one first hand came with a temptation too great to ignore.

 _'If interacting with people in the past was going to alter the future, it would've happened by now,'_ she told herself. _'And you can still minimize your impact. Just smile and nod, don't say anything, and speed things up as much as possible. Tell him you have paperwork to finish so he'll cut it short.'_

"What do you want to show me first?" she asked, following him up the stairs.

Howard threw open the doors to a laboratory which had to be three times bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Lights of every color flashed, but mainly bright blue. Men in lab coats huddled over chalkboards and work desks, and unless Jane was mistaken that was a foot long model car flying ten feet off the ground.

"Everything!" Howard cried.

Jane didn't get back to the base until six in the morning.

Now she had two friends in the past. One who knew better than to get her involved, and one who probably wouldn't care even if he did. Jane's late night excursion was beneficial in one regard. It gave Peggy an excuse to 'forbid' her from going with Howard again. "If you wish to keep your job, Ms. Cinderhouse, I must insist you remain on base at all time," she had 'sternly' declared.

It would've worked like a charm if Howard Stark wasn't genetically incapable of accepting a 'no'. If he couldn't bring Jane to his experiments, he'd bring his experiments to Jane. Which he did in increasing volume over the next few weeks. Every other day he kicked the door in, his arms full of schematics and figures for her to examine.

Exactly what Howard thought she could give him when as far as he knew, she was no more than an exceptionally knowledgeable hobbyist, she couldn't say. He might not have known himself. No two visits were the same; he always brought her something new.

"I'm thinking the flight stabilizers are mostly ready to go, but I have a few alternative fuel sources my guys at the lab are testing out," he rambled in the middle of a particularly busy day as Jane's inbox piled up to the ceiling. She was surprised Peggy hadn't stepped in by now. That phone call she'd been on for the last hour and a half must have been serious.

"Your math is sound," Jane said, re-reading the numbers and doing a quick calculation in her head. "I'd estimate a sixty to seventy percent chance of lift as long as the car is empty."

"The legal team won't let me have a driver anyway," Howard grumbled. "Some political nonsense about potential for injury and workman compensation. Anyway, let's talk sustainable energy and then we'll go back to improving thrust."

A woman in similar garb to Jane tiptoed into the room and left a five inch thick file on Jane's desk next to fifty just like it. She gave Jane a look of apology and scurried out.

Two days later, he was back again with something stranger.

"There are all these rumors from overseas of the Germans using alien technology," Howard said as he lined up a series of black and white photos on Jane's desk. "Like man in the moon stuff."

"Sounds like something out of a movie," Jane said, scanning the photos of singed battlefields and glowing white lights.

"Georges Melies couldn't have come up with this." Howard withdrew one final photo from his inner pocket and dropped it on top of the rest. "This right here was taken by one of our allies on the ground. A double agent we haven't heard from since he sent these."

"When was that?"

"About a month ago," Howard straightened the shot of a masked man wielding what looked like a mutated machine gun. Whatever it was, it was nearly his height and glowed with pulsing energy, not unlike Tony Stark's arc reactor. "Whatever this is, it's unlike anything I've ever seen. It could be rarer than vibranium. It could turn the tides of the war in our favor."

"I'm certain we'll win with or without it," Jane said, smiling to cover the miserable sinking of her stomach. _'We will win the war,'_ she reminded herself. _'We will because I know we will. Because I'm from the future.'_

"Your confidence is admirable, if slightly naïve," Howard said, gathering the photos. "Once Project Rebirth is complete, Phillips will talk to the brass about getting another covert operation going. Much as I'd rather not kowtow to a bunch of gray haired government patsies, it looks like I have no choice if I want to find out what this is."

Jane coughed. "What do you need from me, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Your opinion," he replied, "and your assistance if and when we get ahold of this thing, assuming Peggy loosens up in the meantime."

"Oh, I'm not sure I can-"

"You should know by now I won't take no for an answer," Howard interjected. "You figured out the problem with my jet propulsion formula, and I'm not giving up on that Harvard scholarship by the way. You're wasting your potential pushing pencils in this office."

"I'm serving my country, Howard," Jane said, typing up a memo regarding the faulty heating in the library. "Nothing brings me more pleasure."

Howard snorted. "You Brits are so uptight it's making me itch. What about Princeton or Yale? They'd be crazy about you."

"How about Culver?" Jane asked playfully. She remembered the swell of joy in her chest when she got her acceptance letter. The way she jumped for joy and squealed so loud she scared her mom's cat out of the room. Getting into her dream school had her on cloud nine for weeks. She didn't dare set foot on campus in 1943, but she indulged in her fantasies of seeing her alma mater as it once was until Howard's deep belly laughs pulled her back to earth.

"Those hacks? They wouldn't know a quadratic equation from a hole in the ground. Trust me, Jane, Culver's the last place you want to go. You'd be better off enrolling in clown school."

"I see," Jane deflated, wondering how she might throw her pen at the back of Howard's head and make it look like an accident.

"I'd better get back to New York before they start to miss me… oh who am I kidding? They always miss me." Howard threw his coat over his shoulder like a runway model. He strutted away, only to turn back around at the last second. "By the way, remind me to get Dr. Erskine's okay to let you in on Project Rebirth. If you think my work is amazing, oh boy… you will be mildly impressed with his."

He chuckled and left for real this time. Jane had the office to herself and two hours of quiet time now that Peggy had finished her call and left for her conference with Colonel Phillips. Something about funding and a couple of senators who weren't shelling out as much cash as they promised. Jane set aside her typewriter with the half-finished letter sticking out and retrieved her notes. They were stored semi-neatly in an old leather journal Peggy had bought and never used. Not wanting a repeat the Howard incident, Jane kept all her time travel related musings in there now.

The first ten pages were packed with scribbled out numbers and letters. From far away they'd look black. On the eleventh page, Jane commenced her usual brainstorming process. One paragraph of incomprehensible gibberish soon turned into three paragraphs of barely coherent gibberish. At some point, Peggy returned. Bits of hair stuck out at odd angles and there were pronounced bags under her eyes.

"Senators not cooperating?" Jane completed a flawless recreation of the original schematic for her handheld transmitter, only to scratch it out upon noticing a button on the wrong side.

"A better question is, why are you still here?" Peggy tapped the wall clock. It read eleven minutes past one in the morning. "You have to be awake in four hours."

"So do you," Jane said, moving her notes aside to make way for the typewriter. "I've pulled a ton of all-nighters before. It'll be fine."

Peggy wasn't so sure. "All-nighters at war are in no way synonymous with all-nighters at home. Unless you want to spend tomorrow half asleep, I suggest you turn in."

Jane sighed. It was like Darcy all over again, except British and as the boss instead of the employee. "Let me just finish this letter- "

 _"I'll_ finish it," Peggy snatched the page out of the typewriter before Jane had a chance to strike a key. _"_ _You_ go to bed. That's an order, soldier."

"Since when is a secretary a soldier?"

"War Secretary," she corrected. "It's right there in the title. Now I'll hear no further arguments. To your barracks."

"Sir, yes sir!" Jane pulled her spine straight and saluted. She marched out of the office all the way to her room. Jane bumped her legs against the nightstand, but crawled into her moth-eaten mattress from there with no trouble, and found she was exactly as exhausted as Peggy said. She was asleep in seconds, and awake what felt like seconds later thanks to that sadistic trumpet.

The following day was total hell.

"No more all-nighters," Jane moaned at two in the afternoon, after falling asleep at her desk five times in an hour. "Never again…"

"I certainly hope so," said Peggy as she went about her morning tasks despite getting a fraction of a minute more sleep than Jane had. "If nothing else, I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into working with me."

"I promise, next time I have an idea late at night, I'll save it for tomorrow."

* * *

 **ONE WEEK LATER**

"Jane…" Peggy nudged her head with her foot. This was an impressive feat while Jane was still groggy and half asleep. Then she opened her eyes and the hard surface pressing against her cheek was not her desk.

She rolled around on the floor, from her side to her back. The single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling cast a shadow over Peggy's face. Her outline boasted crossed arms and straight shoulders. Jane got to her knees, gathering her notes into a messy pile. She'd have to sort through them later and see if anything was worth keeping. Her caffeine induced late night musings had a fifty percent shot of producing something useful. The rest of the time, they look like an undergrad's half-baked thesis paper exploded.

"I'm good," Jane groaned, standing tall on wobbly legs and dropping her papers in a heap over the typewriter. "Only dozed off for a minute."

"You mean seven hours," Peggy waved her ticking pocket watch in Jane's face. The hour hand resting happily on six seemed to mock her. "You even slept through Reville. I didn't think that was possible."

Jane shrugged helplessly. "I've done the impossible before. You know, with the time travel thing…"

Peggy was not amused. "Jane, I understand you're in a… shall we say unusual situation."

'That's a word for it,' Jane thought.

"I'm committed to assisting you however I can, but I need you to have the same commitment to me. That's the only way we can keep this charade going, and it's never going to work if one of my superiors walks into this office and catches you snoring. If that happens, I won't have to pretend to write you up. They will fire you for real."

"But I don't actually work for you.." Jane was suddenly wide awake. In fact, she didn't think she'd ever be tired again. "Of course, they don't know that…"

"No they don't," Peggy said. She righted Jane's upturned chair, just in time for her legs to give out. "They would have no issue dismissing you and escorting you from the premises today, and there'd be nothing I could do to stop them."

Images of Colonel Phillips surrounded by identical angry general types flashed through Jane's mind. They looked down their noses at her, pointing her towards the exit. What if they didn't let her take her stuff when she left? Without her remote transmitter, she'd be in her nineties before she got back to her time. Assuming she lived that long.

"Okay, I am officially terrified into submission," Jane wrapped her arms around herself. Outside, the temperature reached the mid-eighties, but Jane shivered like it was the middle of January.

Peggy sighed and walk to her desk. "I'm not trying to scare you, Jane. But I think it might be time _you had a day off."_

Jane blinked. "A day off? From what?"

"Everything," Peggy replied. "My work and yours. It's been some time since your last day out. Why don't you go into the city tomorrow? The train station is only a mile away. I'll give you some money for a ticket and you can-"

 _"Are you crazy?"_ Jane shouted. "Did you forget everything we've talked about? I can't go walking around in 1943. I could change the future just by breathing in the wrong direction. I could start a conversation with someone and prevent them from meeting the person they're supposed to marry. I could get hurt and go to the hospital and the doctor who treats me won't be able to help someone he was supposed to save. I could be attacked in an alleyway and killed. _Anything_ could happen!"

Jane was a hair's breadth away from taking Peggy by the lapels and shaking her for all she was worth. A cadet with some papers tucked under his arm stopped short of announcing his presence and moved slowly out of view, muttering awkwardly that he'd come back later. Jane's arms fell back to her sides. Peggy remained cool and unaffected.

"I'm not trying to belittle your fears, but you've already come into contact with several people. Myself, Howard, Colonel Phillips, various personnel around the base… the fact is, you can't hide in a bubble and hope no one finds you. It's not realistic."

"Says who?" Jane huffed like a big baby.

Peggy pursed her lips and laced her fingers together. "Ms. Cinderhouse, as your commanding officer, I am ordering you to take the day off tomorrow. I want you to get on the train, go to the city, and do whatever it is you find most enjoyable. The World's Fair starts in the evening and Howard will be giving a presentation. You assisted him in making it happen, so you deserve to witness your hard work in action."

"All I did was adjust some algorithms. A monkey could've done it."

"Jane. Go."

Everything from Peggy's tone to her general disposition left no room for arguments. If she had to, she'd put Jane over her shoulder and carry her to the train station. Possibly hogtied. Yesterday, she watched Peggy give some special agents a quick lesson in knot tying. It took them an hour to free her volunteer.

"Think of it this way," Peggy continued, "it's twenty-four hours of no writing letters and no sorting through mail.

When she put it that way, Jane could almost forget the potential for massive cosmic disturbances. "It's not like you're giving me a choice here."

Peggy smiled. "You have two choices. One is simply right while the other is wrong." Her phone rang and she spun her chair around to answer it, and to get the last word. "Get some rest and have a lovely time tomorrow. I believe the train leaves at seven sharp."

If Jane went home and found everyone with pig snouts, she'd know who to blame.

* * *

Jane had been to New York exactly once in her time. That was for a connection flight to Vermont routed through JFK airport, and she'd spent the whole time arguing with staff about a bag she didn't want to check. As a child with wanderlust, it had been near the top of her ten page list of preferred vacation spots. Then her sixth grade science teacher showed the class an hour long documentary about the negative effects of light pollution. She went to Hawaii that summer and never looked back.

Even on her day out with Howard last month, it never occurred to her to take in the sights beyond a single block out of hundreds. Arriving at Grand Central Station on the eight o'clock train and exiting the terminal to the main lobby, Jane wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. She stepped into the early summer air tinged with soot and oil. She moved to the side, out of the path of commuters locked in their own personal bubbles.

As she'd already seen, Manhattan in 1943 was not as she knew it from colorful postcards and big budget action films. More like a gritty independent film going for 'realism' by painting everything in shades of brown. A grey car drove down the street, followed by six bright yellow cabs and a man with a wagon peddling flowers. Every car on the road looked like it belonged in a museum. The dented fenders and layer of grime on the body would've made most collectors faint, but that's just what happens when you drive a modern ca in the city.

Moving down the street, she stopped in front of a dress shop, studying the fine dresses displayed on headless mannequins. She'd seen pictures of her grandmother wearing clothes like this. She always said they'd fit Jane like a glove.

 _'Come to think about it, she'd be my age right now. So would Grandpa…'_ A shudder went through Jane. She hadn't forgotten the prospect of an accidental paradox.

The best place a woman out of time could go in New York was the future, but the world fair didn't open until late afternoon. To pass the time, Jane window shopped, browsed a few bookstores, bought a bag of roasted peanuts, and saw a golden oldie at the movie theater with cartoons and newsreels in place of trailers.

"How are you doing your part to help the war effort," an authoritative voice demanded over footage of soldiers marching in straight lines.

"By making coffee and trying not to distort the timeline," Jane muttered, louder than she'd intended as the woman in the next seat shushed her.

The movie was a double feature, as Jane discovered when Above Suspicion ended and Shadow of a Doubt began. The fair was in full swing by the time she found the convention center. Twice she'd gotten lost, almost walking through Central Park at sundown before a helpful shoe shiner pointed her in the right direction.

There was no line to buy a ticket. Lucky her. Jane hated lines.

"One please," she said to the old man behind the bars smoking a cigarette.

"Sorry, hon. Just sold out."

Jane ceased digging through her bag. Her fingers, wrapped around a coin purse, slackened.

"Sold out?" she repeated. "Are you sure?"

The man shrugged. "Better luck next year."

He took a long drag of his cigarette, forgetting Jane immediately as the nicotine dulled his senses. Jane moved away, picking up speed as he and the fair fell out of her line of sight. They were still within earshot for at least three blocks, impressive given the symphony of traffic it had to compete with.

"This is why cell phones were invented," Jane muttered, trudging up the block towards Times Square. "I could've just called Howard and gotten all this straightened out."

In fact, why didn't she just go back and inform the doorman that she was a close personal friend of their keynote speaker? They'd have to let her in then. Assuming they believed her, which they probably wouldn't. How many women would kill to spend a night with Howard Stark, much less lie?

The New Jersey train arrived at seven, leaving her with three hours to kill and nothing to do. She wandered through a street lined with restaurants. Had she not eaten before, the aroma of cooking food might have pulled her in. Especially after weeks of what the army had the nerve to call food.

(Seriously, did they have to boil everything?)

After the restaurants came the bars. Those Jane avoided like the plague. Puente Antiguo had only one bar, and so all the drunks, pervs, and reprobates flocked to it. Jane's alcohol intake, while never huge to begin with, had taken a nosedive since she moved her research out there. One could only be drunkenly hit on so many times before losing their taste for beer.

That was in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, New Mexico. How would a bar in one of the most crime ridden cities in the world compare?

 _'This isn't the 21st century anymore,'_ she thought.

 _'Yeah, it's World War II. Not exactly sunshine and roses,'_ her voice of reason said.

Passing the bar, Jane followed the rousing blare of a trumpet to a square brick building across the street. Light poured through the windows and the glowing neon signs overhead. Looping blue letters formed two words: The Lily. A crowd of well-dressed patrons lined up outside for the doorman to let them in. Inside, the same swinging Jazz music her grandmother used to call 'the only real music left in this world' played for those looking to forget reality and enjoy themselves. The lack of pounding bass drums and dubstep didn't fully hit Jane until she got to the back of the line and her chest failed to vibrate. One more thing to like about the forties.

The line moved quickly as some people left and more were let in. The doorman took one look at Jane and moved aside, granting her entrance. Jane stepped into a room the likes of which she'd seen in movies. She was surprised to find Hollywood had mostly got it right. There was a bar on one side with tables and chairs scattered around. A dance floor took up sixty percent of the room and the band had a full stage. There were trumpeters, saxophone players, trombone players, and more instruments she couldn't name, all played expertly to create a mood of boundless energy.

She swerved past the dancers on her way to the bar. Women in knee high skirts and men in zoot suits drank and mingled. Jane found three empty seats and took the middle one. She ordered a dry martini, the only 'fancy' alcoholic beverage she could think of. A man with a handlebar mustache raised his drink to her. She nodded at him without smiling and took to memorizing the cocktail menu until he got bored and left. He would go on to live his life the way the universe intended, with no one to disrupt the natural order of his existence.

 _'And how many lives has your presence disrupted since you got here?'_ she couldn't help but ask herself. _'Let's start with Peggy and work our way down.'_

"Let's not," Jane murmured, taking a drink.

"Can I top you off?" the bartender asked. Jane swirled the paper umbrella around the empty glass and didn't realize he was speaking to her until he coughed.

"What? Oh no, thank you." Her purse was significantly lighter and she needed her remaining cash for the ride home. It was too bad, she would've loved another glass. The flavor was good and the alcohol silenced the frequent buzzing in the back of her mind of _this is wrong you shouldn't be here you can't be here what are you doing out here in the open destroying the future why-_

"I got it." A masculine hand slid two bills to the bartender. The stranger took a seat next to Jane and though the lights were low, he was clear as day.

Jane had seen blue eyes before. Donald had them—ocean blue and mesmerizing, but always covered by sunglasses. He thought they made him look cool. Jane begged to differ.

Thor had them, too, brighter than Don's and sparkling with magic. In hindsight, Jane didn't know why she ever believed he was just a homeless guy. Only a god could have eyes like that.

This man's eyes were objectively not much different. They were more human than Thor's and a lighter color than Don's. The latter wasn't an inherent flaw, just an observation. If Jane was honest, she preferred a lighter shade. A shade exactly like the ones drawing her in at this very moment.

"Thank you," she said. Her phony accent slipped and she coughed to cover it up. "Pardon me. I have something in my throat."

He smiled. It was infectious and made his already handsome face shine. "If you need to wash it down, I can spot you a few more bucks."

"No that's fine," Jane said. She held out a hand, looking the man over. His uniform stuck out to her first. He was a ranking officer. A sergeant or higher. She was still learning all the insignias and what they meant. All this before she noticed how the jacket accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. "I shouldn't be drinking anyway. Today's my day off but I have an early start tomorrow."

"In that case, you should absolutely be drinking," the soldier said. He ordered one for himself when the bartender returned. Some kind of beer probably. Jane sipped her martini as a mug slid his way. "I'm getting one last drink before I ship out. I'd get more, but I don't think shipping out hungover will win me points with my staff sergeant."

"Certainly not," Jane said. "I don't have quite the same responsibilities as you, but I know I'd get an earful if I showed up at the office drunk."

The soldier raised his mug. "To working hard and partying harder, but only on the weekends."

They clinked their glasses together and drank. The bitter liquid rushed down Jane's throat chipping away her nerves and the voice of reason reminding her that this man had interrupted his pre-determined path for her. She should be running fast in the other direction, not staying to look into his eyes some more.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes at your service," he winked, making Jane's stomach flip. "Folks around here call me Bucky."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Jane Fo- er, pardon me again." Jane giggled at nothing. "I'm Jane Cinderhouse. It's nice to meet you."

"It must be for you to say it twice," said Bucky. He didn't laugh when Jane flushed red but his grin was intact. "Ms. Cinderhouse, it is very nice to meet you, too."

All he needed now was to bow and kiss her hand, and Jane would be a pool of fangirly mush all over the floor. It wasn't fair that good looking men had such a powerful effect on her. Whatever happened to the recently dumped Ph.D. candidate who swore off men until her research was finished?

 _'She met a hot Norse God, then blasted herself into seven decades ago and met a hot soldier, that's what.'_

"So, Sergeant Barnes, are you flying solo tonight?" She sounded much more at ease than she felt, at least to her own ears. "Seems to me a man like you should have a girl on each arm."

"I did when I came in," he said, glancing at the packed dance floor. "Then my date happened upon an ex-boyfriend of hers and it turns out neither of them is as over it as they thought."

"That's a shame," said Jane. She peeked at the crowd, but of course she had no way of knowing which one was Bucky's erstwhile partner. It could be that brunette in the pink dress or the blonde one in red. Whoever it was, this ex of hers had to be another Norse god if she left Bucky for him.

"I'll say," Bucky sighed. "My last night of freedom and I don't have anyone to dance with."

"That's a bigger shame." Jane played with a lock of her hair which had come loose from her bun. "If only someone would come along to fix that."

 _'What the hell are you doing? What is the matter with you? Stop talking to him! Stop flirting with him! You're disrupting the natural order! ABORT! ABORT!'_

"There is this one gorgeous dame I've had my eye on since she walked in," he said, leaning against the bar top. "You think she'd want to dance with me?"

 _'ABOOOOOORT!'_

"Maybe," Jane took a sip for the third time in twenty seconds and played with her hair for the fifth time in ten. "But she might want to get to know you better first."

"Works for me," he said, drawing in closer. "I'd like to know more about her, too. Whatever she wants to tell."

Jane blushed. "Well, I was going to the fair but I made the mistake of not getting a ticket in advance."

"You didn't miss anything," Bucky said. "Just a flying car that didn't fly. It just kinda floated for a second."

"I hate when that happens," Jane said, relieved her contributions to Howard's work wouldn't result in a world straight out of Back to the Future II.

"Nothing like a little scientific advancement to spice up a night," he said, and unlike most people who would speak aloud a sentence like that, he didn't sound at all sarcastic.

"I would say so," Jane replied. "I've dedicated most of my life to the study of wormholes and astrophysical research."

He blinked. "You might need to repeat that for me."

"Why's that?" Jane batted her eyelashes because she'd already done everything else short of jumping him, so why not? "Here I thought you were smart."

"Oh, I'm plenty smart. I like the way you talk is all."

He had a thick Brooklyn drawl. The kind she'd normally associate with tough guys, grizzly old men, and mobsters. That was before she met Bucky. Now she'd forever equate New York accents to bright blue eyes and disarming smiles.

"If you want, I can keep you awake all night with science talk." Jane scooted closer. "I'll whisper sweet equations in your ear until dawn."

"Only if we get a dance in first," he said.

Jane couldn't help but roll her eyes even as another giggle left her throat. "Now what is it with you and dancing?"

He shrugged. "My father always taught me the way to a girl's heart is to sweep her off her feet on the dance floor. That's how he got my mom to fall for him."

"I see where you got your charm from, Sergeant Barnes."

"Please, call me Bucky."

The band switched from a high tempo swing dance to a slow ballad. Some couples left the dance floor, others stayed, content in the arms of the person they loved. Jane's heart tugged. She hadn't danced like that since senior prom. Bucky's hand found hers, warm and inviting. He gestured with his chin at the crowd. There was room for one more pair.

"Just one dance," Jane said, driving the final nail in the coffin of her common sense and letting this man from history take the lead.

One dance became two dances, which became three dances, which became a leisurely stroll under the moonlight. Bucky showed her his favorite hangouts. The diner on the corner of fifth street; the movie theater that served soda flavored popcorn; the old grade school he attended before it closed down amid concerns of mold and shoddy architecture. They traded stories of their youth, Jane selective about how much she revealed.

"That's when I rode my bike straight into a tree," she said, the tree in question being an old stereo system her neighbor had thrown out.

"I know a few people who would've done the same thing," Bucky laughed. They rounded a corner and he pointed at a dark, flat building with a single porch light shining in the dark. "There it is, Goldie's Gym. My favorite place in the world."

There was dust and grime on the windows and rusty cans taking root in the weeds springing out of cracks in the porch. A stray cat slept on one of the window sills. Garbage overflowed from a trash bin set out next to a telephone pole, the smell strong enough to reach Jane's nostrils from twenty feet away. The sign was sun bleached, the big G in Goldie's all that remained distinguishable.

 _"This_ place is," Jane said dubiously. "Are you sure?"

"Hey now, I know she ain't pretty to look at, but I learned everything I know about fighting in there." Bucky puffed out his chest. "Did I tell you I'm a three time welterweight boxing champion?"

"No, you didn't," Jane giggled, resting her head on his shoulder and feeling his taut muscles flex.

"To this day, I'm undefeated," he said, swelling with pride. "I tell you, if it were up to me, I'd be at that punching bag right now getting ready for my next bout."

"If only the war hadn't happened," Jane replied, "now you're stuck with me instead."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Bucky smiled down at her. He wasn't as obscenely tall as Thor, but the height difference was still pronounced. They walked along the sidewalk, coming closer to the locked double doors and sturdy brick structure. "The last time I was here, I was helping a buddy of mine get ready to enlist."

"You showed him your great left hook?"

"Nah, I'm no southpaw. My right hook is deadly, though. Remind me to tell you about my first win next time."

Jane nodded, ignoring the bitter remains of her common sense weakly crying out that there would never and could never be a next time.

"So what division is your friend in?" she asked

"That would be the highly prestigious 4F division."

"Oh dear," said Jane, "was there a problem?"

"Problem?" Bucky shook his head. " _Problems_. He never should've enlisted to begin with. He's no bigger than you and he has so many health issues, it'd be easier to tell you what isn't wrong."

"And yet he still tried to enlist?"

"That's the thing. His most debilitating condition has always been his lack of self-preservation. He wants to fight everyone all the time. Knowing him, he's out there trying to sneak his way into the army again as we speak."

'Again?' Jane's mouth twitched. She couldn't help but notice a parallel between herself and Bucky's friend. Erik would've loved talking to him. "If I ever happen upon him, I'll let him know to go home and stop worrying you."

"Thank you," he said, squeezing her hand. "I hope you do meet him. Make him jealous that I found the prettiest girl in New York before he did."

They walked to the train station, getting there five minutes before the New Jersey train was set to arrive. Standing on the platform, Jane was stunned the night had passed so quickly. Three hours come and gone like a wisp of smoke, all because of this one man, who looked sinfully good in uniform and danced like a pro.

He waited with her, their conversation moving on to lighter topics like family and the weather. Jane continued giving brief responses and revealing little, while Bucky told hilarious, heartwarming stories about his younger sisters and that crazy headstrong friend of his who'd break his back for the chance to go to war.

"It's been wonderful meeting you, Sergeant Barnes," Jane said when the train arrived. He gave her a look. "Sorry, Bucky."

He smiled and Jane did her best to commit it to memory. "You too, Ms. Cinderhouse. Thanks for giving me a great last night."

With a final bold disregard for the future and the consequences of her continued influence, Jane brushed her lips across his cheek to his ear. "Call me Jane."

This was how she left him. She boarded the train and grabbed an empty seat by the window. She peered out at him. He wasn't gone. He rubbed his cheek, his eyes never leaving her. Jane waved as the train pulled out of the station until she could no longer see him.

 _'You'll never see him again,'_ said her voice of reason. It was alive and well after all, just on mute for a while.

"It's okay," Jane muttered out loud. "Tonight was wonderful."

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. For the next hour as the train chugged along the tracks, Jane enjoyed her memories of Bucky. Of his arms and his scent and those perfect blue eyes.


	4. Be Excellent to Each Other

The new recruits arrived at Camp Lehigh the next day.

There were at least a hundred of them, not that Jane was keeping count. They marched in straight lines, stood at attention, and never spoke unless spoken to. They screamed their 'sir, yes sirs' loud enough to hear from space. They never blinked when the drill sergeant got in their faces, saliva flying as he dressed them down like the worthless useless maggots they were.

They wore identical helmets and uniforms, to the point of being clones of each other. Jane saw one man identified as Private Jenkins in the morning, and by afternoon was positive he had answered to two more names.

Most of them were average as far as men in their twenties and thirties went. A few appreciative stares as Jane walked across the compound were par for the course. She continued her ritual of disassociation until word of Ms. Cinderhouse's antisocial personality spread. It was the best she could do now that Peggy was taking an active role in training and needed someone to follow her around and take notes.

"Squadron B is making progress, but Squadrons C and E continue to fall behind." Peggy walked briskly around the soldiers performing their jumping jacks. Jane hurried after her, pen flying across the page. "Squadron C's average time completing the obstacle course has fallen from three minutes and twenty-three seconds to four minutes and twelve seconds. Recommending immediate action and a swift reprimand for those with the lowest times. There are at least two outliers dragging the numbers down. Are you getting all this, Jane?"

"Uh… could you go back to the part about the obstacle course please?"

Peggy sighed, and in that moment, Jane swore she'd never badger Darcy about not keeping up again.

The first day of training passed uneventfully. Once Jane stifled her panicked reaction to any and all interaction, she found the recruits fell under two distinct categories. The stone-faced soldiers who understood they would be killing in the name of America, and the cocky shits with dreams of becoming war heroes. The ratio was about eighty-twenty. Most of these guys seemed acutely aware they'd spend the next few years straddling the line between life and death and acted accordingly. Of course, that didn't make the few cocky shits any less annoying.

Jane was in the middle of writing the morning report. A soldier assigned to clean the mess hall was just finishing his work. He carried a box big enough to obstruct his vision. He took slow, measured steps to make up for his lack of sight. If it weren't for a leg directly in his path, he would've made it without any problems. He stumbled over and dropped the box. Metal pieces clanged around inside as it came dangerously close to toppling over. The soldier rolled onto his back, groaning in apparent pain. Jane wouldn't be surprised. He was kind of small.

"Whoops, sorry," said the snickering recruit who'd tripped him. He was much larger and stronger. He should've been the one carrying that box.

Jane yelled: "Private Hodge. Do you require a word with Agent Carter?"

Hodge stiffened, straightening his back and dropping the smirk. If there was one thing Jane would give Gilmore Hodge, it was that he knew when to show respect for authority. Even if it had to be beaten into him. "Sorry, Ma'am. It was an accident."

"Yes, it certainly looked like you accidentally stuck your leg out and accidentally tripped him," said Jane. "If he'd been injured, it wouldn't be so funny."

"If he'd been injured I'd have done him a favor," Hodge muttered.

Knowing a lost cause when she saw one, Jane turned to the fallen soldier. He'd gotten to his feet and was now struggling with the box. "Do you need help?"

"I got it," he said, bending his knees for extra leverage. It paid off when the box left the ground, but he almost lost his balance. Jane grabbed the other end of the box to steady it. "Thanks…"

Jane backed up to give him room. "Rogers, right? Sorry, I'm still learning everyone's names."

"That's me," he said. "I didn't think anyone around here cared about names."

"They do when it's time to start yelling," Jane quipped. "I'm Ms.-"

"Cinderhouse, I know," said Rogers. "You're Agent Carter's assistant."

Jane was impressed. "You've noticed."

He shrugged. "I see you around. I don't have time to learn names either but yours is pretty distinct."

"Yes, it is," Jane muttered, kicking herself again for what a stupid name her stupid brain had farted out. ' _You couldn't have just called yourself Jane Smith, could you?'_

"And if you don't mind me saying," he shifted his weight between his feet, "it's nice to be taller than someone for once."

He had maybe half an inch on her. A full inch if she was being generous. Nevertheless, Jane smiled. "I'll make sure to wear my flats tomorrow. Work hard, Private."

"I will."

The drill sergeant barked Rogers' name and he rushed off to meet him. Jane went in search of Peggy and found her leading a group of soldiers in their daily one hundred jumping jacks. It was like a high school gym class to the extreme. Jane pitied every single one of them. Peggy took Jane's report and skimmed the first two pages. "Got all the numbers I asked for?"

"Everything's there," Jane said proudly. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

"You're improving," said Peggy.

They drove a few miles out in the Jeep, Peggy up front with the driver while Jane organized folders in the back. In the distance, the drill sergeant shouted at soldiers as they jogged down the base in two by two formation, moving in perfect tandem so no one ever outpaced the rest of the group.

Only one man lagged behind. He ran at a snail's pace, his face red from exertion. His helmet was huge on his head, but Jane recognized him at once. Among his six foot tall, broad-shouldered comrades, he stuck out in the worst of ways. "I hate to say it, but he doesn't seem like army material."

Peggy had also ceased working, and she watched Rogers with a curious expression. "Dr. Erskine recruited him personally. I'm sure he had his reasons."

"For Project Rebirth?" asked Jane. She had clearance at this point and Peggy had given her a rundown of what Camp Lehigh and the SSR were really about. Jane had taken the news in stride and kept to herself the one huge success they'd have. If Peggy thought she knew something, she was smart enough not to ask.

"Perhaps," said Peggy, pointedly vague as their driver sat well within hearing range. "We're in the process of choosing a test subject."

' _I know who it won't be,'_ Jane thought as Rogers nearly tripped on a rock and fell even further behind.

"Squad halt!" The drill sergeant yelled, drawing their attention to the troops as he announced they were at the halfway point. Jane winced sympathetically for the men, especially Rogers. He was doubled over several feet behind the rest, struggling to catch his breath. When the sergeant issued his challenge to get a flag down from the pole, Rogers was the only one not to step on someone else's head to reach it.

' _They should just remove the latch,'_ Jane thought as Hodge made it halfway up the pole before sliding down on his ass. What a shame.

The sergeant agreed as he ordered the men back into formation. Everyone obeyed save for Rogers, who continued studying the flagpole despite the threat of a swift reprimand if he failed to follow orders.

"Rogers," the drill sergeant screamed. "I said fall in!"

Rogers pulled out the latch instead. The pole slammed to earth, the once proud flag laying limp in the dirt. Still breathing heavily, Rogers untied the knot and calmly handed the stunned drill sergeant the flag before climbing into the jeep next to Jane. She moved her papers to give him room. Her own surprise had yet to fade and appeared as a grin she couldn't drop.

"Nice work," she whispered.

"Thanks."

She just hoped for his sake he wouldn't get blasted and thrown out on his ass for such a smart aleck move later. Judging from the blooming admiration in Peggy's eyes as she glanced at Steve through the rearview mirror, that might not be a problem.

* * *

Jane met Dr. Erskine the next day. She hadn't expected to. It seemed like an average day of training with Peggy keeping wannabe heroes in line and leading them through the hellish medieval torture known as push-ups. Jane kept to the side by the supply trucks, hidden from view. Standing close to bombs and grenades wasn't exactly fun, but she'd already contaminated the past with her future-ness enough for one day. Best to wait until tomorrow for more.

She heard Philips coming, speaking with an older man in a neat suit and bowler hat. "You're not really thinking about picking Rogers, are you?"

"I am more than just thinking about it," the other man said with a heavy German accent. "He is the clear choice."

Jane nearly dropped her pen. Were they talking about Rogers? The same Rogers out there fighting to do more than three push-ups?

"Throw me a bone here, Hodge passed every test we gave him. He's big, he's fast, he obeys orders. He's a soldier."

Jane cringed. _Hodge_ as Captain America? Great idea. Might as well surrender to the Nazis right now.

"He's a bully," Erskine countered.

"And a glory hound," said Jane. She couldn't help herself and she didn't regret it even when Phillips levied a glare her way.

"Keep to your own work, Ms. Cinderhouse," he said.

Erskine gave her a nod and a grateful smile. She looked down at her notes and pretended to write something. Peggy had the men doing jumping jacks now. She was supposed to log how many each man did, but she'd missed the first few and those numbers no longer mattered once a small object rolled at the troops' feet, and Phillips shouted: "GRENADE!"

Jane dove under the car, papers flying everywhere. It was a kneejerk reaction and Jane was saved from feeling cowardly by how quickly all the big strong army men ducked for cover, Hodge at the lead. Once again, Rogers was the only one not to follow the pack. No, he ran at the grenade, and then he covered it with his frail, skinny body as though he was made of steel.

"Get back!" he shouted at Peggy when she tried to approach. He curled so tight around the grenade he could disappear into himself. Seconds passed and when Rogers wasn't reduced to a million gory pieces, he sat up, staring confusedly at the stunned Phillips, the smugly satisfied Erskine, and the absolutely glowing Peggy. "Is this a test?"

* * *

"So Rogers is the one we're staking everything on," Peggy spoke seemingly to herself as they walked across the training grounds long after the sun had set.

Everyone was in bed, including Phillips for once. The only reason they remained awake was so Jane could transcribe a ten page letter to Peggy's direct superiors back in England. She'd had trouble finding the right words. 'We're going to turn some random scrawny American soldier into Superman' is a bit hard to swallow.

"Unless they change their minds, I guess so," said Jane.

Peggy shook her head. "We have final approval and we're going ahead with the procedure first thing tomorrow morning."

"That soon?"

"Erskine doesn't want to wait, and neither does the General. Or the president."

Jane pursed her lips. "We have a lot riding on this."

"More than you know," Peggy said, turning an intense gaze on Jane. "Or do you?"

There was a line of conversation Jane had dreaded since forever. Peggy had been careful to avoid going there, though Jane knew she was curious. It was only human. If Jane found a time traveler from seventy years in the future, she'd have several questions. A whole list, in fact. At least ten pages long and starting with 'Do I prove my theory and create an Einstein-Rosen bridge?'

"I can't tell you much," she admitted. "I _shouldn't_ tell you anything, but even if I could, I'm not much of a history buff. I only know as much as the general public."

"This operation is top-secret," Peggy said with a hint of disappointment. "However, if we successfully create an army, it'll be impossible to keep it under wraps."

"There's definitely going to be at least one super soldier," Jane said. "I don't know his real name, but he's kind of a legend in my time. My dad had a friend who collected memorabilia. An entire room in his house was dedicated to Captain America posters, figurines, trading cards-"

"Captain America?"

Jane's eyes bugged out. "Oh no, have you not-"

"I've already heard it," Peggy said with a soothing pat on Jane' shoulder. "It's one of the names the senators backing the project suggested. They want to emphasize our first successful subject as a symbol of American freedom."

"Well, they'll definitely get their wish," Jane said.

"But you don't know for sure it will be Rogers."

Jane shrugged. "Unless we have a room full of backup test subjects, it seems likely."

"Rogers is our only approved subject at the moment," said Peggy. "If tomorrow is a success, Dr. Erskine will begin scouting for more."

"Let's hope Hodge isn't one of them."

"To be perfectly honest, I don't think any of these men fit Erskine's criteria," said Peggy thoughtfully. "Are you certain there will only be one?"

"As far as I know," said Jane. "Maybe Rogers is the face of the operation while the other guys do the dirty work."

"He seems more like the type to get dirty himself," Peggy remarked. Jane had to agree. Nobody would be forgetting that grenade anytime soon. "I can see why Erskine picked him. He might not be the kind of man Phillips wanted, but his determination and cleverness cannot be denied."

Jane grinned cheekily. "Or his boyish good looks, right?"

Peggy tripped on a rock but caught herself before she fell on her face. "Er- yes. He'll make for a good cover photo."

So there it was. A chink in Agent Peggy Carter's armor. Jane wasn't a boy crazy high school girl, but after a month at Peggy's side, it was nice knowing that British aloofness only went so far. "Just a cover photo?"

"I didn't join the war to get a date," Peggy said. "Rogers is a good soldier and nothing more. I hope _you're_ not thinking of starting something with him."

"Me? No way," Jane said, flashing back to a tall, dark, and handsome man with brilliant blue eyes and a winning smile. Her stomach flip-flopped. "He's not my type… but you know, I've seen the way you look at him."

"Yes, the same way I look at the other soldiers," Peggy said firmly. "Is there anything else you wish to tell me about the future? Something which doesn't involve my romantic life?"

"In 1994, I win first prize the eighth grade science fair with a scale model of the Andromeda galaxy made of toothpicks, and in 1987 I spill fruit punch on the living room carpet and the stain never comes out."

"That sounds lovely," Peggy said. "Anything about Rogers?"

Jane thought hard about that war documentary, what little of it she'd seen. "He saves a bunch of people, gets a bunch of medals, goes on a bunch of secret missions and-"

Peggy furrowed her brow as Jane abruptly stopped talking. "And?"

There was no good way to answer that, or even to continue Jane's thought. No appropriate way to explain seventy years cryogenically frozen after dying to win a battle. Now that this one important detail was in Jane's head, it would never go away. She felt it in her bones. From now on, it would linger in the back of her mind every time she looked at Steve Rogers. Funny how optimism could so easily become anxiety.

"Jane," Peggy said, louder. "Is something wrong?"

Jane put on a brave face. "Sorry, I just remembered I forgot some paperwork." She moved back into the darkness. "I'll go grab it real quick. You don't have to wait up."

Jane retraced their steps, grateful when Peggy didn't call after her. The base had an eerie feel at night, with no sun in the sky or drill sergeants screaming. If Jane believed in ghosts, she'd think the tree branches shadowed on the walls were gnarled hands beckoning her. She had nowhere to go except forward, so she strolled between the circular buildings where exhausted recruits enjoyed their precious few hours of rest before the next day dawned.

One still had the lights on. Rogers and Dr. Erskine sat across from each other on two beds, a bottle of wine in Erskine's lap. The windows were locked tight, blocking out their conversation. Jane got the gist of it through body language. Rogers was nervous, as anyone in his position would be, and Erskine was trying to encourage him. It was nice of him to give Rogers a pep talk, almost fatherly in a way. Jane remembered the last conversation she had with Erik and it made her heart hurt. If she didn't find a way home, she'd never see him again.

She watched Erskine pour himself a drink. Of course, he didn't offer any to Steve. No fluids until after the procedure. If it was successful _(he would inevitably be frozen for seventy years)_ , he'd probably need a whole bottle. Jane moved away from the window and walked for another minute. Peggy would be in bed by now unless she decided to hide and catch Jane trying to avoid her.

Jane returned to the front of the encampment. The door squeaked open and Dr. Erskine stepped out before she had a chance to think about hiding. He seemed no less surprised to see her than she was of him, but recovered and smiled in his good-natured way. "Good evening, Ms. Cinderhouse."

Jane nodded. "Dr. Erskine. Forgive me, I was just on my way to bed."

"No need to explain. Though I'm surprised to see you up so late."

"With all due respect, I could say the same to you."

He chuckled. He still had the wine bottle. "I suppose you're right."

Jane's eyes were drawn to the door as all the lights went out. Steve was in there, all alone for what might be his final night on Earth. He had no idea what was in store for him: if he would live to become a hero or die a failed experiment. No one knew what would happen. No one except Jane.

Intrusive thoughts about Steve and what he might look like encased in ice flitted through her thoughts like a swarm of bees. Dr. Erskine's room was in the same building as Peggy's, and Jane kept two steps ahead of him. He never saw her pained expression. As they reached the door, her mouth moved on its own.

"Dr. Erskine?" He paused, watching her struggle between kicking herself and grasping for words. "I just um… I have a... good feeling about tomorrow."

As vague as it was, Erskine didn't say so. "Thank you, Ms. Cinderhouse. I have a good feeling, too."

That was the end of the conversation, but for as long as she lived Jane would never forget the surety of his words and the hope in his voice.

* * *

Jane watched the commencement of Project Rebirth from a viewing booth with Peggy on one side of her and a bunch of politicians and army officials on the other. Introductions had been made on the stairs when they arrived with Rogers (Jane hid in the corner until Peggy finished with the bureaucrats). In the booth, no one wanted to talk until the procedure was over.

Rogers entered the pod five feet, four inches tall and just under one hundred pounds. Jane had found all this, along with a laundry list of his medical conditions, in Peggy's case files. If someone read it without meeting Rogers first, they'd balk at the idea of putting him on the battlefield, let alone in a supersoldier program. Jane herself couldn't shake the niggling doubt even now. Logically, there was no way Project Rebirth could work no matter how much money the Government threw at them or how ingenious Erskine's formula was. The science was almost as absurd as a bridge between galaxies.

After ninety seconds of pure agony for Rogers, he exited the chamber a foot and a half taller with a body the Greek gods would envy. How's _that_ for science?

Peggy practically flew down the stairs as Erskine and Howard helped Rogers down, with Jane close behind. He stood on his own without trouble, looking out at a people who must have shrunk to his perceptions. He was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. His heaving chest was huge to a hypnotic degree, not to mention his massive arms and chiseled abs. Jane would be lying if she said she didn't stare.

She wasn't alone in the sentiment either. It was clearly taking all of Peggy's willpower not to jump him. "How do you feel?"

Rogers looked _down_ at Peggy. "Taller."

Jane pretended not to see Peggy grope him before shoving a shirt over his head. "You look taller."

"You're going to be taller than a lot of people now," Jane grinned. ' _You're also going to be frozen for seventy years. You're going to be frozen and I can't tell you or anyone else about it-'_ "Shut up…"

"What was that?" Peggy asked.

"Nothing," Jane said quickly, and their moment of triumph continued uninterrupted for five glorious seconds.

Then the booth exploded.

* * *

 **A/N: Bucky's back in the next chapter. See you then! ;)**


	5. About Time

There were chunks of rock and plaster in Jane's hair. Her skirt was ruined. She hit the floor hard when she fell, or maybe she was pushed. In the confusion after the bomb went off, it was hard to tell which way her feet should be. Someone shoved her head down, perhaps mistaking her skull for solid ground. Peggy, by her side two seconds ago, was nowhere to be found, but Jane knew exactly where she went. She'd learned a lot from her time as a war secretary; where there was an explosion, there was a bomb, and where there was a bomb, there was a bomber.

Her ears rang, but she still heard Erskine yell, "Stop him!"

Who 'him' was, she wouldn't know until the shots rang out. A woman screamed and Erskine crumpled to the floor, two bullet holes marring his immaculate white coat. Holding the gun was a well-dressed man Jane recognized from the booth. His name escaped her, but he was supposed to be a government official observing the procedure on behalf of Congress. It appeared he served a much different government.

He took advantage of the chaos to make his escape, taking out anything and anyone in his path with ruthless precision. Peggy drew her gun, as calm as though this was a training exercise. She shot the assassin, putting a bullet in his shoulder. It only slowed him down, but by Jane's estimate, he wouldn't get far without medical attention.

Meanwhile, Rogers had rushed to Erskine's side, his steps ungainly. He was still getting used to his new body, the lack of aches or chest constriction likely its own kind of pain. He crouched over his mentor. Jane couldn't see well from her vantage point, but the despair in Roger's eyes and the peace in Erskine's spoke volumes.

 _'I guess that's why there are no more supersoldiers,'_ Jane thought as Erskine's head fell back and he breathed his last.

Jane turned, but Peggy was gone. There was a flash of her dark green uniform as she exited through the side door. The same one the assassin had used. More shots were fired as Phillips and the non-traitorous senators worked to restore order. The smartest thing Jane could've done was stay and help them. She realized this halfway up the stairs as she stepped over the shopkeeper's body. Then she kept going.

Outside the 'antique shop', Peggy was in the middle of the road with a car coming straight at her.

She _shot at the car._

And suddenly, Jane knew exactly how Darcy felt every time they went storm chasing.

A white and brown blur zoomed past her. Rogers tackled Peggy to the ground as the car drove by. It never slowed down and for a split second, Jane caught a glimpse at the assassin's face. His cold determination. He was almost inhuman.

"I had him!" Peggy shouted.

Rogers had time for a hurried apology, then he was off. Running after the car like the fires of Hell were on his heels. He disappeared as Peggy fumbled with her gun. Jane's legs unlocked and she ran as best as she could (damn those heels) into the street. "Are you okay?"

Peggy waved off her hand. "We have to go. Now."

They'd parked one spot away from the streetlight, the spare keys under the mat so they wouldn't have to bother calling their driver. Jane doubted Peggy would've waited anyway.

"He's chasing a cab… on foot," Jane marveled to herself.

If Peggy was as shocked as her, she'd never show it. "I suppose that's what the serum does."

Super serum turned you into Usain Bolt. Good to know.

Jane got behind the wheel. She didn't ask, nor did Peggy order her to stay behind. She slid into the passenger seat, reloading her gun as Jane shoved the keys into the ignition. Her first car when she was sixteen had been a forty-year-old jalopy inherited from her grandmother. This one was just like it, albeit with a working radio and without the layer of rust.

"I hope you're a good driver," Peggy said, cocking her gun.

"Are you kidding? I'll have you know I aced defensive driving."

"Defensive what?"

Jane hit the gas.

They swerved through two blocks of traffic, went over half a dozen curbs and nearly grazed a mailbox before Jane decided maybe this wasn't like the jalopy after all. She dug her fingers into the wheel, barely turning it until she regained control. She drove in a straight line, horns blaring in all directions from irate drivers who didn't understand this was a national emergency. On every new street, she kept her eyes peeled for a glimpse of Steve's white shirt.

"Do you see him?" Peggy pulled her head back in after scouting the other side of the street.

"Not yet," said Jane, just as one yellow car shot across the intersection at top speed.

"There he goes!" Peggy said. "Take a left here.

"Are you sure it was him?"

"I can't think of anyone hard-headed enough to ride on top of a speeding car."

Fair enough.

At the corner, Jane took a hard left. It might have been a little too hard for Peggy. After recovering from the jostling and finding her gun under the seat, she shot Jane a glare. "Do you always drive like this?"

"Of course not," Jane said. "Only when I'm chasing tornados."

They followed the clues Steve left behind. A broken bridal shop window, an old man who'd been run off the road and was yelling about a mad taxi. The docks were the end of the line. Jane's blood curdled when she spotted the upturned and bullet-ridden cab, but her fear was short-lived. Inside the cab was a broken seat belt and papers spilling out the glove compartment, but no Rogers and no assassin.

A woman was screaming, calling out for her son who'd been taken. Then there was a splash. Peggy took off, her reaction time something most seasoned soldiers could only dream of. "Stay here," she ordered.

That was the funniest thing Jane had ever heard. "The hell I will."

Common sense dictated that she do exactly as Peggy said and not get involved in a situation she wasn't the least bit trained for. Then again, common sense had also said she shouldn't attempt to shield a Norse god with her body in the middle of a giant robot attack, and hadn't that worked out just fine?

The police had just arrived and struggled to contain the growing crowd. Two officers fished a boy out of the harbor, shivering but grinning ear to ear like he was having the time of his life. Jane almost tripped over the missing cab door and kicked it aside without a thought for the extra holes and droplets of blood around the red star logo.

She ran as fast as her heels would allow and cursed herself for not insisting on flats. Peggy was like a gazelle in heels, except when Jane finally spotted her, she wasn't moving at all. She'd stopped at the end of the dock, her shoulders slumped as the gun slipped out of her hand. Before them was Rogers, soaking wet and standing over an equally drenched assassin. His head was turned towards Jane, his lips coated in white foam. Her heart sank. She didn't need a minor in nursing to know a dead man when she saw one.

The final vial of Erskine's serum, the formula he'd lived and died for, had smashed against the rock. Blue liquid mixed with saltwater, nothing more than an oddly colored puddle to be washed away by the rain. As the assassin's body twitched, Rogers stared at it, and then at himself. He studied his large hands and thick forearms as if in disbelief that they were his. Jane wouldn't be surprised, but there was a much greater weight on Steve Rogers' shoulders now. It started with the corpse at his feet, and it ended in ice.

* * *

Jane was not allowed at the SSR meeting the next day. As far as Phillips was concerned, no amount of security clearance in the world was enough to let a lowly secretary into such an important meeting. That was fine by Jane. After yesterday's adventure, ten hours in an office sorting files was like heaven on Earth.

It was well into the evening when Peggy returned, her face ashen and her eyes glazed. Jane took one look at her and dropped her notebook. She guided Peggy to her chair and jogged down the hall to the lounge for a fresh cup of coffee. They were out of sugar, so Jane would have to get some out of her desk. Peggy had her head in her hands when she came back, sitting so still Jane thought she'd fallen asleep.

"So uh…" Jane shifted her weight. "How'd it go?"

Peggy looked up, not unlike a zombie rising from the grave.

Jane winced. "That bad?"

"We're changing objectives." Peggy drank her black coffee in one gulp.

"What does that mean?"

"It means what it sounds like," said Peggy. "Does the name HYDRA mean anything to you?"

Jane thought about it. There was a spark of recognition, but nothing concrete. "I don't know, should it?"

"If it doesn't," Peggy said, "then we'll either do our job very well or very poorly."

That made loads of sense. Jane went back to the lounge and poured a cup for herself. She should've done that the first time around. This whole thing was killing her focus. "Are they the ones who did this?"

Peggy pursed her lips, deliberating how much it was safe to reveal. "Officially, they are the scientific research and development faction of the Nazi party, working under Hitler to turn the tides of the war in Germany's favor. In reality, they're a cult led by Johann Schmidt, a man whose only true master is himself."

"You seem to know a lot about this," Jane said.

"I spent some time undercover," Peggy replied, staring at the bottom of her mug. "The man they sent was after Erskine's formula. He failed to retrieve it, but he succeeded in destroying any chance we have of replicating it."

Jane nodded. She hadn't known Erskine well, but the thought of a fellow scientist finally achieving his life's work, only to die moments later, never getting to truly know the fruits of their labors… that was something none of them could understand. If she was the praying sort, she'd pray now for Erskine's soul. No one deserved it quite like him.

"So that's the mission now. Taking down HYDRA."

Peggy gave her a sad smile. "If you'd like the keys to my flat, now's the time to take them."

"Tempting, but the risks outweigh the benefits," Jane said, leaning back in her chair. "I'd have to leave eventually to get food and do laundry and if I'm stuck in one place for too long, I get really bad cabin fever."

"You've been doing well in my office for twelve hours a day."

"Twelve is my limit. At thirteen you'd find 'All work and no play makes Jane a dull girl' written on the walls."

Peggy chuckled, which was good. She needed a laugh. They all did. Somewhere just outside Manhattan city limits, Erskine's wife was committing his body to the ground with only her small family and a sympathy wreath courtesy of the United States Armed Forces to comfort her. Meanwhile, what remained of the super soldier project hung in the balance and, unless Jane was reading too much into it, on the verge of total abandonment.

"How's Steve?" she asked. On the ride back to base, he hadn't said a word. His increased size meant all three of them wouldn't fit in the backseat anymore, so Jane watched him out the rearview mirror as he curled his fingers in and out, drops of water dripping from his hair down to his chin.

Peggy shook her head. "As well as can be expected. He's been a soldier for all of a week, and he's already lost a man. People say it gets easier over time, but it never really does. There's always that lingering question: could I have done more?"

Jane shivered and pushed her coffee aside. She was suddenly a lot less thirsty. "Well, you know… there is one upside. We have our super soldier, and pretty soon, he'll be a national hero saving lives and beating up Nazis. I may not know much about these HYDRA guys, but with Steve on our side, we can't possibly lose."

Jane grinned reassuringly, but Peggy was not moved. Her spoon clinked against the tea cozy and she seemed not to care that she'd just burned her esophagus with bitter coffee a moment ago. At the less than enthused reaction to her pep talk, what remained of Jane's optimism drained out through her stomach, leaving only the dull ache of anxiety which had been omnipresent since the bomb went off.

Finally, Peggy sighed. "Rogers won't be coming with us. He's been assigned to another division."

That did not sound right at all unless Jane's memory of high school was deceiving her. "He not coming? Are you sure?"

"Phillips wanted to send him to the lab for additional testing, but Senator Brandt got to him first," Peggy scowled and Jane couldn't tell which name she hated most. "He's been given a _promotion_ , so to speak."

"Okay," Jane coughed. "What kind of promotion?"

* * *

"Who's strong and brave here to save the American way!" Chorus girls in star-spangled outfits sang in perfect harmony as they danced across the stage, flags out and skirts swishing. Among them was Steve Rogers, dressed in what could only be described as the Party City version of Captain America's iconic uniform.

"Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank, but there's still a way all of us can fight!" His voice projected clear across the auditorium, though he might have inspired more confidence if he wasn't so obviously reading his lines off the back of his shield.

Nevertheless, the audience devoured the beautiful showgirls and the handsome, muscular man hocking war bonds with promises that they'd magically put bullets in American guns. By the time Steve had three showgirls on a motorcycle over his head, the crowd had gone from skeptically amused to fired up and ready to take on the Nazis themselves. Among the hundreds of seats in the theater, only one remained occupied during the standing ovation. Jane stared at the stage, playbill in hand, unable to clap. Red, white, and blue confetti was shot into the crowd, the dancers maintaining their poses as the curtains fell.

"I do not remember this from history class," Jane murmured.

After the show, she made her way backstage through a gaggle of squealing fangirls and happy children desperate for a glimpse of their new hero. At the head of the crowd, Steve signed posters and took pictures, at a rate of twenty per minute. His phony grin had fallen into a phony close-lipped smile. Bags under his eyes made Jane think he'd keel over at any second. He handed a sobbing baby back to his mother and then one of the many suited men surrounding him stepped forward.

"Okay, everyone, we're out of time here. Thanks for coming out."

A chorus of groans and boos followed Steve to his dressing room as his 'entourage' dragged him along. Jane tried to follow, only for a much larger man to block her path. "The Captain isn't meeting with any more fans tonight."

"I'm not a fan," Jane groused. "I'm his-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're his girl from back home, just like the rest of 'em." He jerked his thumb at a line of young women in full makeup and curve-hugging dresses, pushing their chests out in case Steve happened to look their way. "Get to the back of the line and maybe you can see him in a year or so."

He laughed at his own joke as Jane stomped out the side door, swear words on her every breath.

* * *

The next time she saw Steve, they were stationed on the outskirts of Austria with the tattered remains of a demolished infantry unit, and his big performance for the troops was going… less than well. The hundred or so soldiers making up his audience had just enough common decency not to storm the stage, but they weren't above tossing a few tomatoes around. Jane scribbled nonsense words and numbers on her clipboard and tried not to listen to their cruel insults or Steve's dispirited attempts to pacify them.

He left the stage to their jeers and hid in a small enclosure while the USO girls repeated their song two more times. Jane thought about approaching him; there was no security guard to stop her this time. She held back when he removed the mask, revealing the flushed, haggard face of a man who wanted nothing more to sleep for the next ten years.

Peggy was right there waiting for him, and while they were too far away for Jane to hear, she could imagine what kind of conversation they were having. She'd certainly heard Peggy's opinion of Senator Brandt enough times.

"You're better than this, Steve," Jane muttered, paraphrasing Peggy's slightly more eloquent speech. "You should be out there fighting, not prancing around like a monkey on a tightrope for a bunch of bloated bureaucrats."

An ambulance pulled up in front of the medical tent. Two men carried a third out on a stretcher, his lower half significantly smaller than it should've been. His eyes were closed, and they had him in the tent before Jane could determine if he was breathing. A pang of sympathy went through her. She almost understood why Steve got such a lukewarm reception. Those men out there, fully capable of throwing fruit far enough to hit the stage, were only physically well. Mentally… she didn't want to think about it.

Jane's grandfather had been a veteran. He served in the Navy and saw action in the Battle of Okinawa. According to the stories, Grandpa Joey went to war with his brother, his best friend, and a head full of optimism. He came back alone, missing two fingers and half an ear, with a head full of nightmares. He passed away when Jane was five, having spent the last forty years of his life trying to forget what a dying man's screams sounded like. Her only clear memory of him was at her family's Independence Day barbeque when he threw a fit at one of the neighbors for offering him a sparkler.

Now here was Captain America, with his classic good looks and a thousand-watt smile, peddling a dream that died in the trenches with their friends. In their eyes, Steve was nothing but a government puppet with a phony rank. In the eyes of history, he was the greatest American hero since George Washington. Somewhere in the mist between now and the freezing ( _'which is inevitable and you can't prevent it-'_ ), Steve would find a way to prove himself. How? She didn't know. When? Good question.

She wrote a few more lines, then checked on Steve and Peggy again. They hadn't moved and Steve looked as despondent as ever. He hung his head, then raised it again. Then he shot to his feet and sprinted straight at Colonel Phillips' command center- wait, what?

Jane dropped the clipboard and threw on her coat. Rain pelted down on her as she struggled to keep up and not lose her shoes in the mud. By the time she reached the tent, Steve was in the middle of a dispute with Colonel Phillips. Something about needing a name.

"Please tell me if he's alive, sir," Steve demanded politely. "B-A-R-"

"I can spell," Phillips said, less politely.

"What's going on?" Jane whispered to Peggy.

"His friend may have been captured."

That was looking more like a definite as Phillips' hard expression turned solemn. "I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I care to think about, but the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

As big as Steve had become since getting the serum, Jane had never seen him look so small. "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"

Phillips snorted. "Yeah, it's called winning the war."

 _'You jerk,'_ Jane thought, wishing she could say it out loud and resolving to 'accidentally' step on Phillips' foot the next chance she got.

They argued back and forth, Steve desperate in his pleas and Philips coldly logical in his point for point rebuttals. It's too risky, he said. They'd lose more men than they'd save. Not once did his stoic maks crack, but Steve refused to back down. Storming a Nazi camp meant nothing to him, and Jane almost understood. Hadn't she once tried to pick a fight with a shady government agency over the theft of her research? She'd known then it was a stupid move. She just hadn't cared.

And neither did Steve Rogers, as the world was about to find out the hard way. He left the tent at Phillips' final word and stomped towards the barracks. Nothing about his gait or the fire in his eyes spoke of defeat.

"You don't think he's going after them," Jane muttered after Phillips dismissed them, "do you?"

"Not if he has half a brain."

And clearly, he didn't. He had just finished packing a knapsack when Peggy and Jane caught up with him.

"What do you plan to do," said Peggy, " _walk_ to Austria?"

"If that's what it takes," said Steve, with all the raw determination of a man who'd never before infiltrated hostile enemy territory.

"You heard what Phillips said. Your friend is most likely dead."

But of course, Steve didn't care. 'Most likely' did not mean 'definitely'. They followed him to the truck, Peggy argumentative and Steve inexorable. He loaded his gear and prop shield into the passenger seat. Jane wouldn't put it past Peggy to stick her foot on the bumper, but if she did, Steve would just back up and drive around her. They were two immovable forces of nature. No wonder they worked so well together.

"You told me I was meant for more than this," Steve said, heavy with emotion. "Did you mean it?"

Peggy sighed. The battle had just been won and they all knew it. "Every word."

Jane nudged her shoulder. "You two go. I'll distract Phillips."

Though clearly still unsure, Peggy climbed into the van after Steve and got behind the wheel. Steve nodded at Jane as she started the engine. "Can't thank you enough, Ms. Cinderhouse."

"Just get home safe, Captain. We need you." _'More than you'll ever know.'_

They drove off and Jane didn't watch to see which way they went. Plausible deniability was key when covering for a ranking officer and nominal soldier breaking hundreds of regulations and possibly a few laws. She tapped her clipboard like a good little secretary and made her way back to Peggy's temporary office. Nobody stopped her. They all knew shy Ms. Cinderhouse had nothing to offer but a smile. She was three steps away from relative safety; Steve and Peggy had to be off campgrounds by now.

"Where is Agent Carter?"

Philips' voice was like ice, freezing her in place. He could probably win the war on his own just by telling Hitler to stand down. She spun on her heel, a demure mask slipping over her grimace. "Pardon me?"

He got right in her face, his eyes so narrow they almost disappeared into the wrinkled folds of his brow. "Where. Is. Agent. Carter?"

Jane swallowed. "Sir, I can honestly say I have no idea where she went."

Twenty long seconds of intimidation later, Philips grumbled and walked away, satisfied that she was useless to him. Jane let out a breath and backed into the office. The rain had let up enough that she no longer feared getting soaked, but the tarp ceiling was a welcome reprieve, even if she was completely alone and had no idea when or if Peggy would be back.

 _'Steve will be,'_ she told herself. _'He has to survive this and so will Peggy.'_

Trying to pinpoint just one instance of Captain America's heroics was impossible, but Jane was pretty sure his first major victory was liberating several hundred POWs from a German detention camp. If this was that camp, then he'd come home to an avalanche of medals and universal acclaim. This would be Steve Rogers' big debut, and as long as Jane didn't dwell on his final hurrah, she could trust in America's Favorite Son to bring everyone home safe. That friend had better be grateful for all Steve was going through to save him.

Come to think about it, how weird was it that Steve, formally a scrawny weakling with no business being on the battlefield, had a best friend gone to war without him? And what a coincidence that said friend's name began with 'B-A-R'. Almost like...

"Nah," Jane shook her head. "It couldn't be. The odds are way too slim."

Almost as slim as time traveling.

* * *

Peggy returned well after midnight. Howard was with her, but Steve was not. She slipped into their bunk, tossing her coat in the corner like she always lectured Jane not to do. Her skin was blanched and her eyes haunted. Howard, helpful as ever, shrugged when Jane looked to him for answers. He walked back to his car, which stuck out like a diamond in a pile of sand, and mouthed 'talk later' at her. Then he was gone.

"So," Jane said, putting her notes aside, "how'd it go?"

"If you mean were we successful, I wish I knew myself." She had a walkie-talkie in her lap and she stared at it as if expecting it to get up and dance for her. "Steve parachuted into the base, and that's the last we heard of him."

"You mean he's still in there?"

"As far as I know." She picked up the walkie, turning it on to static. "He was supposed to call me to get picked up, but he never did."

Jane sat next to Peggy. "He'll make it, okay? I know he will."

Peggy's eyes flicked to her as she shut down the walkie. "Do you?"

A hush fell over them. Some men outside were playing cards and arguing passionately over a pair of twos. The roar of Howard's engine faded in the distance and someone had a radio going. It sounded like opera music. A weird yet kind of fitting choice. Jane stared at her hands, there was a hangnail on her left ring finger. She picked at it, not knowing if she should leave Peggy be or stay and try another pep talk. She thought she heard Colonel Phillips coming, but it was just a pair of privates imitating his grizzly tones for a laugh.

"Jane, there's something I want to ask you," Peggy said, rubbing her knuckles, "but I don't know if I should."

She turned on the walkie one more time and listened to the white noise. It sounded like the buzzing in Jane's ears. "Oh?"

"Feel free not to answer. It's a bit… well, I don't think knowing would change things, but I suppose there's always a chance."

 _'Oh God, she's going to ask about Steve. She's going to ask if he dies and how he dies and when he dies and oh God, what am I going to tell her? What can I do? Why didn't I just go to bed early like everyone else? I don't want this-'_

"Go on," she said, deciding then and there that she missed her true calling in life. She should've been an actress.

Peggy braced herself, and so did Jane. "Will we win the war?"

She looked to Jane with pleading eyes, so unlike the tough as nails special operative who inspired fear and respect in her men. It shook Jane, not because she'd never believed Peggy had that side to her, she just never expected her boss would lay her fears out so openly. "Ah…"

As Jane struggled for words, Peggy lowered her gaze. "It's all right. Forget I asked."

"No, no, that's not…" Jane licked her lips. Her fingers trembled as she laced them together. "Um… do you remember when you looked at my driver's license the night you found me? Remember what it said?"

Peggy smiled, her red lips a perfect upward curve. "America."

Jane smiled back. She glanced at the walkie, still gripped tightly in Peggy's hand. "He will come back."

The white noise continued, no discernable voices coming through, but the two women were walls of determination and resolve. They would not crumble. "I know."

* * *

The rain had stopped, but the clouds remained. Perfect for reporting to the general that America's Favorite Propaganda Machine had just gotten himself killed on a fool's errand. Jane didn't envy the kind of tongue lashing Peggy was getting right now. It was why she'd chosen to transcribe the daily notes next to the boom gate rather than in the office. It wasn't that she was afraid of being reprimanded (much) or worried about her much-needed status of 'invisible'. She just… wasn't sorry.

Because she knew perfectly well there was no reason to be.

She was one of the first to see the parade of dirty brown uniforms approaching the base. While the soldiers gathered to watch the same man they wrote off as a chorus girl leading their friends, Jane was the only one not completely floored. When Steve marched straight at Phillips with his shoulders squared and no regrets, she turned away to enjoy a secret smile. 'Finally…'

"Some of these men need medical attention," Steve said, as if him giving orders was a regular thing. "I'd like to submit myself for disciplinary action."

Which was never going to happen. Even if Phillips tried, he'd be lambasted for punishing a hero who'd just single-handedly saved hundreds of Allied soldiers. This was the turning point for Steve Rogers. The legend had just been born, and when a voice cried out in the middle of the crowd, the first thing Jane did was join in the celebration.

"Hey! Let's hear it for Captain America!"

The second thing she did was flashback to Brooklyn.

To strong hands and blue eyes and stubbled cheeks.

 _That voice…_

Through a gap between two heads, she could just make him out. The man who'd walked at Steve's side as they re-entered the base. She hadn't paid attention to him before; she was too busy being proud of Steve. Now, his face was unmistakable. As handsome as she remembered despite the layer of soot and the sharpness of his cheekbones from weight loss. His eyes were like Grandpa Joey's, but those sparks which had charmed her were still there when he shared a glance with Steve.

He looked away to give him and Peggy had a moment. Jane watched him intently as he glanced down at the ground, then at the cheering masses, until finally, with almost agonizing slowness, he spotted her. His jaw unhinged and whatever dark thoughts had clouded his mind before, they had surely vanished.

 _"Jane?"_

She flinched slightly, not so much at the way he said her name or the fact that he remembered her after so many months apart, but because she'd just realized that meeting Bucky Barnes again after their flirty first encounter spelled trouble with a capital T. If Jane was smart, she'd pretend to be someone else or just straight up ignore him. And she was smart. That was the first thing new people learned about her. Hell, she was one of the smartest people on the planet depending on who you asked. Yet here she was, standing completely still and grinning like an idiot as the greatest threat to keeping the future intact made a beeline for her.

"Sergeant Barnes," she said, her voice cracking. "It's ah... so good to see you again. Small world we live in, huh?"

He smiled so brightly, Jane's stomach flipped. A thousand butterflies burst through her as he took her hands, holding them tight between cracked, calloused fingers. There was blood caked under his nails, at least one of which was just starting to grow back. God, what he must have been through in that hellhole. It was unimaginable.

But God if he wasn't even more beautiful than she remembered.

"Doll, you have no idea how much you just made my day," he said.

All danger of a paradoxical disaster aside, he'd kind of made hers, too.


	6. We're Going Far

That night, Jane drank a beer for the first time since college. The one time she agreed to play a drinking game with the guys from Intro to Astrophysics, she had her head in the toilet all night and may have asked a cute bartender to marry her. Her best friend at the time had a sick sense of humor and refused to tell her if that part was real or just a hallucination. She was left to always wonder, and never touch a drop of alcohol again for the rest of her life.

Until now.

Jane Foster sat alone at a high top table in a tiny London pub, sipping on what had to be the worst beer ever created by man (not that she had a lot to go by), looking anywhere and everywhere but at the two men at the bar. She looked at the ceiling, at the floor, at the spider web of cracks in the window, at the splintered edges of her table, at the tiny flakes of indeterminable origin floating in her drink.

Inevitably, she found herself staring at Bucky.

He was back in his old uniform. It hung off his shoulders like a towel. She was pretty sure he didn't count as a welterweight anymore; more like a lightweight. His face was still beautiful, his eyes expressive and the curve of his lips making Jane unconsciously lick her own. When Peggy arrived, dressed appropriately in fiery red, curve-hugging attire, all eyes were drawn to her, including Buckys. Though he backed off once it was clear Peggy only had eyes for Steve, Jane couldn't help the sharp stab in her chest as he admired her shapely form.

Peggy glanced at Jane before departing, smiling enigmatically. She mouthed something, but Jane couldn't make it out. Then Bucky slid into the seat across from her and she no longer cared.

"Used to be me the girls flocked to," he said with only a hint of bitterness. "Looks like I've been upstaged."

"For what it's worth," Jane said, speaking carefully as she never remembered her accent around him, "I think between the two of you, you'll always be the handsome one."

Bucky grinned. "Coming from you, that means the world."

 _'He is way too charming,'_ said the part of Jane who never got over her Jane Austen phase from high school.

 _'I'm destroying the space-time continuum over a hot guy,'_ said the part of Jane that was too smart to let her have fun.

"Now if you don't mind, I gotta know," he said, "what's a girl like you doing in a hellhole like this? When you said you were working, I figured you meant the something like the phone company. Not this."

Jane chuckled. "Yeah, you probably wouldn't expect to see a woman on the war front." 'Yet.'

"Let me guess: father was a military man? Raised you here and there?"

"Not exactly," Jane said. "My grandfather fought in World- in the Great War. He was something of a family hero. My father never had any interest in joining the military, so as the only child of the only son, I felt obligated to carry on his legacy."

That was good. Over eighty percent lies and bullshit, but still good.

Bucky pursed his lips. "Not gonna lie, your family sounds a lot like my family."

"You're the grandchild of a war hero, too?"

"Close. My pops was an airman. Nearly got himself blown up six times before he finally got an honorable discharge."

 _"Six_ times?"

"That's how he tells it," Bucky shrugged. "When he got home, he married his best girl and had me and my sisters. Taught me to always look out for them since I was the oldest, and the only boy."

"Sounds like a lot to put on a kid."

"Nah, I could handle it." He lounged back, forgetting the seats had no backs and nearly toppling over. To his credit, he recovered nicely, faking a yawn and grabbing the table to steady himself. "It always came naturally to me, protecting people. Want to know how I first met that dumbass over there?"

He waved at Steve, who now sat at a table with a group of men she understood to be his new team.

"Do tell," Jane said.

"Okay, picture this: I'm seven years old, new school year's just started. There's this random little kid in my class who I'm thinking has to be a lost kindergartener. He's so tiny, you could use him like a football. Then during lunch, a group of fourth graders go and do just that."

Jane winced. She'd managed to avoid school bullies by keeping her head down and ignoring their comments about her bookishness. Plenty of her friends had been targeted, though. She knew what kind of horrors kids were capable of. "So what did you do?"

Bucky folded his arms. "I was gonna walk away, let the chips fall where they may, but I was in a generous mood, so I introduced those punks to some friends of mine." He balled his fists. "Later on, I found out this stupid kid provoked them because they were making fun of some girl and he wanted to defend her honor. Like he thinks he's a knight in shining armor. Unbelievable."

He shook his head. This clearly would not be the last time Steve Rogers threw himself into harm's way for justice. Jane wondered if Bucky had heard about the dummy grenade incident yet and if she'd be betraying Steve's trust by breaking the news to him.

"You're saying at the age of seven, you fought a bunch of nine-year-olds and won?"

Bucky smirked, unsubtly flexing his arms. "You think I'm making it up to impress you?"

A guy once told Jane he invented cough syrup to try and get her to sleep with him. Presumably, because he'd just ingested enough cough syrup to make that sound good in his head.

"Maybe," she said airily.

Bucky held out only a second longer. "Okay, you're right. I wasn't actually beating up nine-year-olds when I was seven. They were twelve."

Jane dissolved into giggles as Bucky smirked. If his goal was to take her breath away, then he'd succeeded. "If- If I ever get in a fight with a twelve-year-old, I'll give you a call."

"Anything you need, doll. Just say the word."

A waitress brought them fresh drinks, even though Jane had yet to finish her first one. The effects of the alcohol were already hitting her, keeping her from turning tail and getting the hell away from her handsome relic of the past. Either that or his eyes were just that hypnotic. And damn his cheekbones, too. How could anyone not from Asgard look that much like a Greek statue?

"Hope you're thirsty," Bucky said, downing his drink with barely a shudder. "I've got a running tab going."

"That's very generous of you," Jane said.

"Eh, I'm nice like that. I'm just enough of a dick to put it in Steve's name, though."

Jane snorted, nearly dropping her glass. "You are terrible, Sargeant."

"He deserves it. He owes me for the time I spotted him grocery money when he lost all his spare change on the subway. That's five bucks I'll never see again." He winked at her. "By the way, I asked you to call me Bucky."

"I must've forgotten," Jane blushed. For a moment, she saw the light and sparkle return to his eye. They crinkled when he smiled, filling her with unusual warmth. They'd been sitting together for barely ten minutes, and it already felt like there was no turning back. "I'm… glad we got to see each other again, Bucky."

Oddly, his expression turned grim, only for a moment. Like she'd inadvertently reminded him of something he was trying to forget. Jane tugged at her skirts, debating with herself if she should apologize. She would've willingly done so with no hesitation, she just didn't know what she was apologizing for.

He pursed his lips. "You work for Carter, right?"

Jane nodded.

"Then you're probably going to be seeing a lot of me." He wrapped his arms around himself. "Tell me something: is it completely crazy to turn down an honorable discharge after months in a Nazi hellhole, all so you can jump right back into the same shit that got you captured in the first place?"

"I've seen worse," Jane said lightly. 'I've done worse.' "If there's more you can do and you feel capable of doing it, I see no reason not to."

"You make it sound easy." Bucky played with the condensation dripping from his mug. He seemed to have lost all interest in drinking. Jane could relate. She'd lost interest in everything not directly in front of her.

"This is war. There's nothing easy about it."

Bucky nodded. "Took the words right out of my mouth. Also my pop's mouth. I got to call home yesterday and he said the same thing."

"You told them you're staying?"

"I had to," Bucky lowered his gaze to the table. "My Ma cried. Tried for half an hour to make me reconsider until my sister took the phone away. I've been thinking about it ever since."

Jane listened, unsure why he'd chosen her of all people to open up to. Had that one night really affected him so much? It had to be because he shipped off the next day. She was his last taste of normality before he fell into the proverbial rabbit hole of bloodshed and death. It was kind of sad; Jane had never been what one would call normal.

She'd also never been good at giving advice. Bad repetitive questions were more her forte.

"So do you think you made the wrong choice?"

"That's the thing. I know it's a bad decision." He played with one of his sleeve buttons. "I got no business going back onto that battlefield when I have a perfect opportunity to get out in one piece. Any other guy would kill to be in my shoes. To go home to their families and not have to worry about getting shot dead in their sleep."

"But…"

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "But there's still more we have to do. Someone either very wise or very dumb once told me he had no business sitting in a factory when there are men laying down their lives. I trained too long, too hard, to back out now. I'm still a sergeant even if my head's all screwed up. I know this is where I need to be. Besides, if I'm gone, who's gonna make sure that punk over there doesn't get himself blown up? Or drive off a cliff? Fact is, he needs me."

"Or sit on an explosive," Jane murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Jane took a drink and almost gagged. It took all her strength to swallow; the taste would linger on her tongue for days.

On the plus side, Bucky was laughing.

"Not much for alcohol, are you?" He handed her a napkin. "That's a relief. I was afraid you only liked me for the free drinks."

"Don't worry, there are plenty of reasons why I like you." The list was longer than the list of reasons why she shouldn't be talking to him. "And I don't think you sound 'screwed up' at all. I think you're very brave."

"Brave is just another word for stupid."

"No, it's a word for brave."

"Now you sound like Steve."

"Thank you."

"Wasn't a compliment." Bucky tried to scowl, but it almost instantly cracked. "Okay, it was kind of a compliment."

Jane giggled. "Never forget, you're the one following him into war."

 _"He'll_ never let me."

Given what Jane knew of Steve, he was probably right. And given what she knew of Bucky, he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Kiss her," came a voice from Steve's table. A redheaded man with a well-trimmed mustache raised a glass to them as he wobbled in his seat. He had to be at least three drinks in. "Come on, Barnes, be a man!"

"I'm more of a man than you, Dugan," Bucky shouted back. "Just ask your mother."

"Sure thing. After I'm finished with yours."

"Shut up and kiss her already!"

"Do it!"

Everyone except Steve cheered. Alcohol sloshed as they waved their tankards around freely. Why they cared so much, Jane didn't know. War put things into perspective, she supposed. Appreciate the little things, like how fun it is to goad you friend on when he's trying to have a moment with a girl.

"Janie, would you excuse me for one second?" Bucky slid off his chair and she almost reached for him. "I have to go crack some skulls."

She only nodded. He marched around the tables with the gait of a soldier. Something about the confident roll of his back had her squeezing her legs together, bemoaning her inability to wear pants. Stupid outdated sexist clothing standards. And stupid Jane, letting herself get carried away lusting after a man she couldn't possibly hope to have.

Worst of all, he'd called her Janie, a nickname she'd never let anyone use. Not even Donald Blake and she'd been ready to marry him once upon a time. Now here was Bucky, so casually attaching the name to her, and she didn't hate it.

Coming from him, it sounded nice.

* * *

Steve wasn't the only one who'd gotten a promotion. Jane had, too.

That is to say, she was expected to do everything she'd always done, just in top-secret war rooms where Peggy and Colonel Phillips discussed plans of actions with Steve on how to destroy every HYDRA base in existence. Whatever was said, it was Jane's job to write it down, and have all relevant notes ready for review at the end of each meeting. When she wasn't doing that, she was watching Howard poke and prod at repossessed HYDRA weaponry. So far, he'd been thrown across the room four times and nearly blew up two hapless assistants, both of whom immediately requested transfers.

"Bunch of babies," Howard muttered after receiving notice from the second one. "I can't work under these conditions. Jane, are you sure-"

"Yes, Howard, I'm very sure." She'd lost count of how many times he'd asked.

"This isn't a personal thing, you know," he said, handing a report off to the secretary for filing. "I want you entirely for your brains and not at all for your stunning beauty."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

"I'm not kidding," he said. "You're gorgeous, but not my type. Plus, I saw Sergeant Barnes in target practice yesterday and I'm honestly afraid to even be talking to you right now."

Jane, having made the mistake of taking a sip of water, nearly choked. "I… why would that scare you?"

Howard rolled his eyes. "Not to toot my own horn, but I'm kind of a genius. You don't get that title without developing excellent observational skills."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Unless it does." Howard replaced his goggles over his eyes and called for someone to bring him a new pair of gloves. That was the end of that conversation.

But it was just the beginning of Jane's acquaintance with Bucky Barnes. He did indeed have regular training sessions at the shooting range. Jane sat in on one and after he shot twelve perfect bullseyes in quick succession from a tree three hundred feet away, she'd become convinced Bucky was some kind of gun wizard. That was before the shock wore off and her scientist side kicked in.

"It's like you've mastered the Coriolis effect." She felt like a teenage girl meeting her rock star idol. "How do you calculate each shot? Are you writing it all down or have you memorized the formula? Did you learn to shoot on your own? You've must've had a mentor, of course, but-"

"Do you ever breathe?" Bucky threw an arm around her as they left the training grounds together. At least fifty soldiers watched them go. "I don't want you fainting on me, doll. Come on, inhale, exhale."

Jane swatted his arm. "I know how to breathe, thank you."

"Just making sure." He grinned and her heart somersaulted. "As for your questions, let's go somewhere a little more private. This could take a while."

It took the rest of the night and into the early morning. Much to Jane's surprise and slight disappointment, 'finding somewhere private' really did mean having a lengthy discussion of physical theory undisturbed by crusty old colonels or officers brandishing paperwork. They commandeered a table in the back corner of the mess hall and didn't leave until late evening. Jane had left her notebook under her pillow and all her spares in her desk drawer. She resorted to scribbling on a napkin.

"I don't imagine you have a lot of time for note-taking when people are shooting at you. Maybe I'm naive, but I can hardly fathom how precise your shots are."

"Never thought it was all that special, to be honest. Just point at someone's head and pull the trigger. Seems easy enough." At her look of horror, he chuckled. "I'm kidding. I trained for months and worked my ass off getting the higher-ups to like me. They had me dismantling and reassembling rifles until my hands fell off."

"Sounds exhausting," Jane said.

"That's an understatement," Bucky shivered. "To pass the time and keep the monotony from driving me up the wall, I started planning. Where to aim and when to shoot. I knew the formula, so I came up with a bunch of different scenarios and tried to apply it."

"I'd love to hear some of those."

"I don't know about that. You got a week?"

He really didn't know her at all. "To talk science? I've got a whole year and then some."

"Sounds like it would take you a year." The last group of soldiers camping out with their empty trays took that moment to pack it in. Now they were all alone. "I heard you've been working on the side with Stark."

"I wouldn't say working with him," Jane blushed. How did he even know about that? So much for staying under the radar. "More like… consulting. I'm an unpaid helper of sorts."

"That's fair," said Bucky. "I'll be honest, most of this perpetual energy stuff he's working on kind of goes over my head, but if anyone doesn't think a flying car is the greatest thing in the world, we've got nothing to talk about."

Their talk did not last a year, but it was well past midnight by the time Bucky escorted Jane back to her room. He was stopped halfway by Phillips's secretary, a pretty young woman by the name of Private Lorraine. Jane had yet to interact with her, but first impressions told her the woman was very much about her work. Her work and one other thing.

"Captain Rogers wanted to speak to you, Sargeant." She sounded like she'd give anything for Steve to ask for her instead.

Jane snorted like a pig as Bucky took his leave with a bow. "Well, Miss Cinderhouse, shall we meet again tomorrow?"

She nodded, unable to do much more with her hand over her mouth. Private Lorraine found new interest in her nails and slowly backed away. They had to look way too sickeningly sweet together.

Returning to her bunk, she found Peggy in bed with a book. The gaslight had dwindled down to a dying flame. Peggy was usually good about conversing energy, but tonight it was like she'd been waiting for something.

"Late night?" Peggy marked her place and put the book away.

"Not too late." Jane changed behind a curtain into her nightclothes. They were essentially a potato sack and some slippers, but it kept her warm as they headed into the winter months. "I'm actually pretty early, right?"

"Oh yes," Peggy said, glancing at her watch. "You should have a good three hours to rest. I only hope Sergeant Barnes is as much of a morning person as you."

"Very funny." Jane got into bed and faced away from Peggy. "Also, whoever said I was with Bucky… with Sergeant Barnes?"

Her face was hot, but if nothing else, she could deny Peggy the satisfaction of seeing it. She pulled the covers over her head and didn't react to any tongue clicking or sighing.

"Jane, if there's something you want to talk about, don't hesitate."

"Thanks, but I'm okay," Jane said firmly. "I'm not going to do anything to mess up the timeline and change the future."

"I never said you would."

"Good night, Peggy."

* * *

At seven in the morning, Jane carried a stack of papers to Colonel Phillips office for final authorization and almost ran into six people along the way. She had mostly gotten her eyes open, but she still had to yawn every few seconds. Each room was clearly marked with names, and it only took her two tries to find Phillips' door, which she counted as a victory. Turning the corner, she heard a pair of voices.

"You're a hero." Female, and sultry. Like something out of a steamy romance novel.

"Well, that… that… depends on the definition-" Male, and nervous. Like an inexperienced virgin unaccustomed to female attention.

Jane walked a little faster until they were in view. Private Lorraine pulling a gobsmacked Steve by his tie. There was heat in her eyes which abruptly died as she checked over her shoulder and spotted Jane watching them. She let go and stepped back, arms folded. Steve was as of yet unable to move. He looked at Jane like she'd just used the jaws of life to pull him out of a car wreck.

"Sorry to interrupt," Jane said, making her accent as prim as possible. She happily dropped the stack of papers into Private Lorraine's arms. "These are from Agent Carter. They must go to Colonel Phillips at once. Thank you."

Jane took Steve's arm and walked off with him. Whatever he had to say to Phillips could wait.

"Thank you so much," he said. "I don't know what she was trying to do."

"Don't you?" Jane squeezed his hand. "If it ever happens again, remember, you can always say no."

They almost literally ran into Peggy. Steve swerved to avoid her and knocked a desk into the wall. He stammered an apology to the horrified agent as he hastily righted her workspace. His ears were as red as his face was pale, and it didn't escape anyone's notice.

"Is he all right?" Peggy asked. "He wasn't nearly this discombobulated yesterday."

"Let's just say you should keep an eye on Phillips' secretary," Jane hissed. "She doesn't know how to keep her hands to herself."

Peggy's mouth became a hard line. She was absurdly good at that. "Thank you for the warning."

Jane fell out of step with her and Steve as they entered Howard's lab. He had a whole treasure trove of new toys for Steve to check out, including carbon polymer to make his new uniform. That Granny sweater and winged mask just wouldn't cut it against a tank. Then there were his new shield options. Jane had seen them all and heard Howard explain their capabilities enough times to know not one of them would ever grace Steve's arm.

Indeed, he went for the vibranium and at that point, Jane tuned them out. The first time she saw the shield, she hadn't believed it was real. Because obviously, it wasn't. Vibranium was so rare, even in her time, that some people in academia suspected it didn't exist. Whenever some treasure seeker bragged to the press that he'd found an untouched vein in the middle of the desert, it always turned out to be rocks painted silver. On its own, that shield looked no more threatening than a large frisbee, and then Howard sawed three inches through a steel pipe with it.

There were no stars and stripes. Not yet. They would likely be added later, to go with Steve's walking, talking American flag look. For now, Jane left him to break it in. Amazing as the rarest metal on earth was, it was still far out of her field. The novelty wore off around the seventh or eighth time she secretly copped a feel.

Instead, a man across the room handling a sniper rifle caught her eye. Never a big gun person, she could only name the trigger and the scope. The latter had been removed, left on the worktable for configuring and reattachment. Currently, he was adjusting the muzzle. He whistled as he worked and it was with a dark sort of amusement that Jane realized the song was literally Whistle While You Work from Snow White.

"That the one for Barnes?" A man in a lab coat approached the station with a toolbox.

"Sure is," said the man with the gun. His name was Roberts if Jane remembered correctly. He'd asked her out for coffee once a few weeks ago and still made an effort to greet her every morning. " Almost got it fully calibrated."

"Good, because he wants to start practicing as soon as it's ready. Bastard's already got a whole section of forest cordoned off."

Roberts sniffed. "Who does he think he is anyway?"

The second man switched the toolbox between his hands. It looked heavy. "A ranking officer? Cap's second in command? A guy who can shoot a fly off a pinhead without looking? Take your pick. Speaking of which, I'd be careful around Miss Cinderhouse if I were you. A couple of guys spotted them together last night and it looks like she's taken."

 _"What?_ Come on…"

Jane turned away before either of them could see her. She walked through the nearest open door, head down and face hidden. If that made her a coward, she'd wear the name proudly. She didn't even care if she was in a broom closet or the men's room. Anything was better than listening to even more gossip about her and her forbidden not-romance with-

"Jane?"

"Bucky!" Jane slammed into the wall. The door was still wide open and waiting for her, but under his magnifying glass of a gaze, she was trapped like a bug. "Uh… I didn't know you were here. I'm sorry, I… took a wrong turn and then I…"

"Looking for the ladies room?"

"Yes! Exactly that." Jane inched slowly towards freedom. "So I'll just be going now. Sorry again for bothering you-"

"Wait, hang on a second," said Bucky, sounding urgent enough to freeze her in place. "I was hoping to find you anyway."

"You were?" Jane tried not to look at him. The lights were dimmer in here. It appeared to a back room stocked with office supplies and a few empty tables. Whatever Howard might need on a whim. She chewed on her lip as Bucky's feet appeared at the top of her vision. His boots were different than she remembered.

"I just got fitted. One of the nice things about joining a special forces op is you get to pick your own wardrobe. What do you think?"

Jane thought a lot of things as she summoned the strength to raise her head. His brown leather boots became loose fitting pants which resembled a paratrooper's. The pockets looked empty, but they were deep enough to carry several rounds of extra ammo. On his belt were similar pouches made of a thick material she couldn't name (more carbon polymer perhaps). He had a shoulder harness over a buttoned blue jacket which did wonders for his shoulders. In fact, it made his whole body look bigger. There had to be a layer of armor under there. He looked like the night they first met. Before HYDRA sunk their claws into him. She still shuddered thinking about it, especially now when he quirked a grin like he was the hottest guy in the world and well aware of that fact.

Which he was. There was no denying it. Nor was there any denying what that outfit and that smile did to her.

"Uh…" Jane swallowed.

"Uh?" he chuckled. "That's not promising."

"No, no, I…" ' _I want to climb you like a tree.'_ "I like it. I like it a lot. It suits you."

Bucky smirked. "Well, my mom always says blue is my color. Says it brings out my eyes."

"Yeah, it does," Jane said. She chewed on her lip and, as if acting on an unspoken command, lost herself in the depths of his blue eyes. He looked right back into her average browns like they were anywhere near as beautiful.

This was dangerous territory. She'd been walking on a tightrope since the moment she saw him, and it seemed there was no way off except to fall over the edge into the abyss below. Jane wanted to say something else, keep things light. Maybe ask him about those pockets or where he got that jacket. She had to keep him talking and not leaning into her, staring at her lips like he was about to kiss her breathless.

"Hey Barnes, quit primping and get out here!" The mustached man from the bar barreled in with no introduction. He had also changed into new battle gear. They looked perfectly efficient and practical, but they were not blue. "You're gonna miss Agent Carter helping Steve test his shi-"

He blinked, mouth stuck in place with the word half-formed. It quickly died on his tongue, just a barely audible squeak. Bucky had backed away from Jane in the meantime. If they hadn't just been caught inches apart, it might look like they were just two platonic friends having an innocent chat alone in a cramped room.

"What do you want, Dugan?" Bucky snapped.

"Not to interrupt your moment," the man, Dugan, said, wiggling his eyebrows as he offered Jane a hand. "Corporal Timothy Dugan, at your service. Sorry for the unorthodox introduction, but it's not often I see a lady as pretty as you around these parts."

"Yes, I um… I get that a lot," Jane said. She took his hand and couldn't help notice Bucky in her peripheral vision. He was standing a little taller.

"We call him Dum Dum because Timothy sounds too intelligent," he said.

"And they call him Bucky because it's just adorable." Dugan pinched Bucky's cheek. "Aren't you the cutest little thing? Our darling boy taking his first stumbling steps towards manhood-"

Bucky knocked his hand away with a growl. "I really am going to punch you one day. Don't test me."

"Fine, fine, but you know, I think it's time the whole team met your new girl."

"Oh God," Bucky said, running a hand over his face.

Jane could relate. Her tongue was in knots and she had no good excuse to run when Dugan led her out into the open and towards a group of men chatting out in the hall. One of them was speaking rapidly in French while the dark-skinned man next to him translated. Something about a girl he once knew whose father was a prizefighter. It must have been really funny. Their hysterics actually drowned out Howard's voice.

"At ease, men. We're in the presence of a lady," Dugan boomed. He let go of Jane's hand rather suddenly. Then she felt Bucky come up behind her and it made sense. "Miss Jane Cinderhouse, I'd like you to meet Private Gabe Jones-"

The dark-skinned man tipped his hat to her. "Ma'am."

"- Private Jim Morita-"

An Asian man with noticeable stubble gave her a charming smile.

"- Jacques Dernier-"

The Frenchman nodded at her and then muttered something to Jones.

"He says you're too pretty for Barnes," Jones said.

Bucky glared at Dernier, who blew him a kiss.

"- and finally, Lieutenant Montgomery Falsworth."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Cinderhouse." He was a well-groomed man with a kind face and a firm grip. His hand on hers didn't make her heart race the way Bucky did. His very British lilt, however, did. "Forgive me if I seem forward, but I can't quite place your accent. Where in England are you from?"

 _'Crap crap crap crap crap-'_ "Oh… all over. My family was never very settled in one place."

"Her granddad fought in the first world war," Bucky said proudly. "We are in the presence of a war hero's granddaughter, so show some respect."

"I'm always respectful," said Dugan, feigning hurt. "Come on, Barnes. What do you take me for?"

"That is not a question you want me to answer." Jane felt his fingers brush hers like he wanted to take her hand but stopped himself at the last minute. "Now if the peanut gallery doesn't mind, Miss Cinderhouse and I are needed elsewhere."

"Have a fun night, kids!" Dugan shouted after them.

"Don't acknowledge them," Bucky hissed as whistles and hollers from the team followed them.

Steve and Peggy, blissfully oblivious to the tomfoolery happening just a few feet away, had taken to arguing over the topic of Steve's new shield and seeing how effective it would be.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Steve peeked over the shield. "If it works it'll be fine, and there's no way it won't work."

Peggy stared at Bucky. "Is he always this optimistic?"

"He's a fucking idiot, so yes."

That was all Peggy needed to hear, as she grabbed a gun and fired three times at Steve's shield. The bullets hit the surface and fell, crushed flat. A few scuffs aside, the actual literal _vibranium,_ which was _not_ a painted rock, was no worse for the wear.

"Told you," Steve said.

Peggy dropped the gun and marched off, rubbing her temples. From everything Bucky had told her, Jane sensed this would be a recurring theme. Steve, meanwhile, was pointedly ignoring his best friend's cold look. It seemed an angry Bucky was scarier to him than getting shot at.

"Did I tell you I once caught him trying to fight a bulldog with a stick to protect some baby birds?"

"No, I don't believe you have."

Bucky sighed like Steve's presence had aged him a hundred years. "Why don't I tell you a few more outside?"

They left Steve to finish ironing out the details of their first big mission. The whole team would be briefed the next day, and until then, they had the night to themselves. Of course, it wouldn't be night for a long time yet. Jane checked a clock as they passed and it was barely eight. Sometimes, she forgot just how long she'd been in the past. Months had gone by, slow at first and then just like any other day in the New Mexico desert. Here she was, friends with a secret agent, a multi-millionaire, and a super soldier; getting way too close for comfort with a man who insisted on being handsome and smart and kind. At least Thor had the excuse of being a (debatable) god. No normal human being should ever be that lucky at the genetic lottery.

 _'Because Bucky Barnes is no ordinary man,'_ said a voice in her head which offered no further explanation.

They were all the way outside in the chilly weather. A light snow had fallen, covering the muddy earth in white (by tomorrow it would be just mud again). Jane wrapped her arms around herself. Bucky moved along like the cold couldn't touch him, and in that almost definitely armored coat, it probably couldn't. He didn't have his new gun or any kind of weapon to practice with at all. It was like he'd led them out here just so they could be alone with no one to hear them.

But there was no way he'd really done that, right?

Bucky turned to face her. "Okay, Jane, fess up. I know what you're hiding."


	7. I'm Your Density

**A/N: The new chapter has turned out a lot longer than I expected. With that in mind, I have decided to break it into two chapters. The next one will be out either on or before Sunday.  
**

 **Until then, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

There were a lot of ways Jane could've imagined being found out. Most of them involved getting caught on camera fiddling with her remote and becoming a number on one of those 'Top Ten Creepy Unexplained Photos' Youtube videos. Several had to do with Colonel Phillips deciding to look into her background one more time and discovering some damning discrepancy Peggy and her SSR guy missed. At least one had her going back to that London bar, getting wasted, and going on a tangent about all the ways the search for the Higgs Boson Particle could've been conducted more efficiently.

None of them involved being figured out by the absolute last person she ever would've wanted to learn the truth.

And yet, here she was.

There was nothing but forest surrounding them. Forest and the base which she'd have to move around Bucky to get to. Nowhere to run, nothing to do but stand there and wish she'd sprung for a warmer coat. This standard issue army jacket just wasn't cutting it. Unless the sensation of freezing came not from the air but rather the ice in her spine.

"I… I…" What a time to fall speechless.

Not helping at all was the faint curve of Bucky's lips which grew bigger the longer she struggled. If he was enjoying this, then he was damn lucky that Jane had lost all feeling in her arms. Otherwise, he was liable to get slapped. Actually, maybe she was the lucky one. With cheekbones like that, she was more likely to shatter her knuckles than actually hurt him.

He tucked his hands in his pockets, leaning on a wooden post. He wasn't whistling, but that would've been the perfect icing on the cake. If she had to guess, he'd favor something like The Bare Necessities, except she was pretty sure The Jungle Book wouldn't come out for another few decades.

"Go on," he said, gesturing at her with his head. "I'm listening."

"I don't… know what you're... " Jane coughed. Her accent was slipping again.

"Jane, come on." He stood straight and walked to her. "I'm not mad, I just want to know what's going on."

"I can explain," she said without thinking.

She couldn't. Of course, she couldn't. She could barely explain it to herself. How was she supposed to come up with a logical and comprehensive account of how she ended up seventy years before her time, and for that matter how had he picked up on it?

Was it the way she walked? Was it the way she talked? Had she used some random anachronistic colloquialism without realizing it?

"I hope so," Bucky folded his arms. His very nice arms, which Jane was somehow able to notice with the one percent of her brain that wasn't screaming. "Because I've been racking my brains, and I can't think of one good reason why you'd pretend to be British."

The whole story, from the night on the roof in Puente Antiguo to now, sat at the edge of Jane's tongue. If it were a tangible being, a single breath would send it plummeting. As Bucky's words registered, Jane snapped her jaw shut. Her teeth slammed together with an unpleasant clack. If she ended up with dentures in her old age, she'd know exactly why.

"What?" And that was definitely her natural voice. "I... I just…"

"Please don't do that again," Bucky grinned like this was nothing more than a casual chat between friends. "Cute as you are when you're flustered, I'd like to get this out of the way before we go any further."

Further where? She should've asked.

No, screw that, she should've run away. Run and never looked back and never talked to him again and holed herself up in Peggy's office until her remote was fixed.

Instead of doing any of those things, Jane swallowed and stood up straighter. "What makes you think I'm pretending to be British?"

She might've laid the accent on too thick. Even as she was speaking, she knew this. Anything close to resembling Scouse was long gone and that stupid smug smile of his would not go away.

"I'll admit, you had me fooled at first." He ambled on towards the base, prompting Jane to follow. "Once I shipped out, I got a hear a lot of different accents. I had no idea there were so many and yet not a single one of them sounds like yours. What happened just now with Falsworth sealed it for me. You're not really British. In fact, I think you're American."

"How do you know I don't just have an accent Falsworth hasn't heard before?" Jane snapped childishly. "He may be well-traveled but he can't possibly know what everyone everywhere sounds like."

"Fair enough, but you also told him your family moved around," Bucky said, "and when I asked you at the bar, you said they didn't."

"I did _not_ say that."

"You implied it."

"If you must know, my family comes from Liverpool. I was born and raised there."

"I doubt it. You don't sound even remotely Scouse."

"My mother is more Scouse than you'll ever know."

"Then I guess you take after your father."

They were at the back door, but they didn't go inside. The training grounds were empty this time of night. If they were caught by some wayward private out for a smoke, Bucky could just pull rank and they'd be on their way. Jane almost wished Phillips would be the one to spot them. At least then she could maybe get out of here. Unless Bucky decided to expose her… no, he wouldn't do that.

He wouldn't, right?

"Look, I'm not bringing this up to start a fight," he said, "I want us to be honest with each other. If this is some top secret thing you and Carter have going on, that's fine. I know how it goes. I just want the truth."

Those damn blue eyes made her absolutely weak. They implored her to do what he asked. Tell him everything, just like she'd been planning to not a second ago. Maybe he'd believe her. His best friend was a real-life Superman so maybe her being a time traveler would only be a little bit strange in comparison. Or maybe fumes and the germs in the air which her body wasn't familiar with had traveled to her brain and that was why any of this sounded like a good idea.

"I… guess I can talk to you like this now," Jane said in her normal voice.

"Okay, _that_ I recognize." He threw an arm over her shoulders, warming her up. "So where are you really from?"

"Pennsylvania," Jane said truthfully. "That's where I was born anyway. My mom really is from Liverpool and we did move a few times when I was younger. Before I came here I was in New Mexico for work."

"Secretarial work…" he said skeptically.

"I'm a physicist. A real one with a degree. Nobody knows except Peggy so keep it to yourself."

"Not even Stark? You work with him."

" _Consult_ ," Jane insisted. "And as long as he thinks I'm just an assistant with a hobby that's all I'll have to do. For now, it needs to stay that way. I'm sorry, but I can't say more than that."

"Don't apologize," Bucky said. He was an excellent actor. For a second, Jane believed he really was okay with this. "I told you, I get it. I was thinking you were another secret agent like Carter."

"Trust me, I am the farthest thing from a spy," Jane laughed. "I'm just someone in way over her head, but I have to stick it out to the end."

"Sounds like everyone in this hellhole." A grimace flashed across Bucky's features. His hands grew as cold as the snow. In an instant, his cool demeanor, which had pulled her in and refused to let go, became just a mask. It had only been a few weeks since Steve found him strapped to an operating table, pumped full of enough drugs to make him forget his own name. Jane resisted the urge to hug him and shrugged.

"We're all doing the best we can out here. Just trying to win the war and go home."

"Where is home for you?" He kicked aside a pebble. It rolled off into the snow-covered grass. "New Mexico?"

"I don't know," Jane answered. "I kind of just go with the flow. Do whatever I feel like. I haven't been settled anywhere since I was a kid."

"Do you want to be?"

"Maybe." Jane scooted closer to him. It was like an icebox out there. "I think so. I love being able to pack a bag and just go with nothing tying me down, but sometimes I think about getting a house, putting down roots-"

"Finding a guy?"

Jane coughed as a mouthful of spit threatened to go down the wrong tube. "Is that an offer?"

Bucky smirked. "That depends on you, but what do you say when this whole war business is over, you come and visit my family in Brooklyn? My mom makes a mean chicken dinner. See if it helps you make up your mind."

That was definitely an offer. No two ways about it. If there was ever a time to get the hell out of dodge, it was now. Time to tell him straight out that a relationship between them would never work and they were better off as friendly acquaintances who rarely if ever interacted with each other, so the best thing they could do was end this before it began and forget it ever happened-

"I'd like that." Jane glanced away and hoped her messy hair was enough to hide her luminescent blush. "I could use a break from the… _sustenance_ they serve in the mess hall."

Bucky chuckled. "That might just be the nicest thing I've ever heard about the food here."

"Thank you, I do try."

They returned to the base and went their separate ways, Bucky, being Bucky, couldn't let her go without a bow and a kiss on her hand and a promise of front row center seats for his practice tomorrow.

"We're heading to Germany on Friday," he said, stretching his neck. "I gotta be ready to go wipe the floor with those assholes."

"I believe in you," Jane said.

There were those crinkles again, every time he smiled. Had his eyes always done that and she'd just never noticed? She was still thinking about it that night, as she rolled around in bed long after Peggy lost consciousness (one day some unlucky sap would have to break the news to Peggy about her snoring). Even when she should've been more concerned with how close Bucky had come to discovering her secret. She'd have to be more careful around him from now on. Fortunately, he'd be spending the next few months running around Europe destroying HYDRA. No way they'd have time for another illicit encounter.

Right?

* * *

The Howling Commandos were an unstoppable force of Allied strength and American Patriotism, slicing through Nazi forces with the strength of a grizzly bear and the swiftness of the great bald eagle. That's how all the newspapers described them in their headlines every other day. If Falsworth or Dernier had any objections, Jane never heard them. They took the glowing praise with grace, just like their companions.

Six months into their tour of Europe, and there were three less HYDRA bases and several hundred (if not several thousand) fewer HYDRA agents. Steve led the charge across Belgium and through Czechoslovakia. He rallied a group of civilians to his cause in London. He took back a castle in Denmark. Their exploits made it into the Captain America comic series, still running in all it's propaganda-laden glory. Those titles would end up in the hands of collectors one day. Her dad's friend kept them framed in his basement next to his son's baby pictures.

All the while, Steve had an elite team of experts flanking him. Morita was their communications officer, coordinating attacks and intercepting messages from enemy broadcasts like it was entry level coding. Dernier was the explosives expert, and he seemed to take perverse pleasure in watching tanks flare up into infernos. In the trees above, hidden from all save the keenest of eyes, a sniper waited to strike.

Jane sought him out in every video, a black dot on the white Siberian landscape or a flash of gray on a warm day in France. The cameras rarely panned away from Steve, who remembered his acting days enough to smile once in a while. When they did remember the other Commandos, Bucky was always there. In that damned jacket with his perfect hair and his blinding smile. He was interviewed once or twice, usually about what Steve was like growing up. He didn't seem to mind the questions. His answers were never lacking in details.

"This one time, he got his pants stolen by some punks who wanted to sell them for a new slingshot," Bucky smirked as the man behind the camera stifled a laugh. "He literally walked to school in just his underwear. You remember that, right Steve?"

"No comment…"

"Yeah, he remembers."

Film reels arrived several times a month. Only a select few would ever be released to the public. A video of the men huddled over a map on the hood of a car would one day be part of Jane's American history curriculum. Jones's head obstructed her view of Bucky which might explain why she hadn't immediately recognized him the night they met. Looking back, she should've made the connection between Captain America's right-hand man and Bucky Barnes ages ago. He'd been right there in that documentary the day she had her accident, inexplicably sexy coat and all. He might not have been a swaggering super soldier, but the camera still loved him.

She chalked it up to exhaustion. Whoever had the bright idea of running drills at five in the morning deserved to never sleep a wink for the rest of their lives.

Jane shot Peggy a glance. She was playing the role of third-party observer to perfection. Not until the close up of Steve's pocket watch with her photo inside did the mask crack, as her eyes popped out and she forgot how to breathe. Jane thought she should've said something, but as sweet and romantic as Steve's devotion was (thank God Jane stopped that kiss before Peggy saw), Jane's eyes were drawn away, as if by magic, to the man beside him. For a split second, before Steve took the camera around to the other side of the car, she saw a chain sticking out of Bucky's pocket. He had a watch, too.

Whose picture did he have?

 _'Not yours,'_ said the bitter voice of her common sense. _'Because you can't take any pictures, remember?'_

Jane hated that voice.

The Commandos became regular features in the news. Certain officers and assistants kept carefully cataloged collections of every article, filing them away in case they were ever worth something. Jane made a point to read everything she came across, even if she had to peer over Howard's shoulder to do it. Most of the photos had Steve front and center. The rest of the team were often squeezed into the margins if they appeared at all. It left a bad taste in Jane's mouth. Not that Steve didn't deserve credit for his hard work. He was out there risking his life on a daily basis, but he was hardly the only one.

Time passed faster than Jane knew. Christmas came and went in a whisper. Jane looked at the calendar one day and it was December 24th. Peggy had a small tree on her desk, but other than an excuse to get drunk on the government's dollar, no one on the base had much holiday spirit.

Jane's free time was spent evenly in three ways. Most nights, she had dinner in the mess hall with Peggy. They'd chat about her progress on the remote or how much they hated the weather in whatever country they'd landed in this week. Every now and then, if Peggy was in a good mood, she'd let the brick wall around herself crack and reveal some personal details. Those days were by far Jane's favorite.

"So you were really engaged once." her eyes flicked to Peggy's unadorned ring finger. "I honestly wouldn't have pegged you as the housewife type."

"Whyever not?" Peggy asked innocently. "I'm perfectly domestic when I want to be. I can turn on a stove with the best of them."

"You can _turn on a stove_?" Jane shook her head in amazement. "God, you're so talented."

Their snickers made a group of bald, burly privates stares at them until Peggy decided to stare right back. They buried their heads in their food and did their best to blend into the dull green walls.

"I suppose in the end, work came first," Peggy said, her face unreadable. "It's not that I didn't love Fred, but I had to look at the bigger picture. By joining the SSR and doing my work undercover, I may have helped turn the tides of the war. If I had another chance, I can't say I'd do it any differently."

"Look on the bright side," Jane folded her copy of today's newspaper. Steve was on page five. He'd just rescued another hundred POWs. "Now you can take your love life to work with you."

Peggy flicked a pea at Jane's face.

If she wasn't with Peggy, she was with Howard, getting a crash course in advanced mechanical engineering and learning more ways to kill people than she ever cared to know. By New Year's, Howard had made a breakthrough in his tireless study of the recovered HYDRA assault rifles. There were several holes in the wall and he was on his eighth desk after disintegrating the last one, but no one could say it wasn't worth it.

"This is what they used to turn our infantryman into scorch marks," he said with a face full of uncomfortably glowing blue light. Even with clunky antique goggles forced over her head, the heat burned her retinas. It rippled and danced in its metal containment, like a caged beast hungry for its next meal. "I've just about isolated the core and it is fascinating. Also disturbing. But also fascinating. I'm very conflicted as you can tell."

"It happens to the best of us," Jane muttered. She'd already calculated how much distance she'd have to put between herself and the core to avoid getting her head blown off from an accidental misfire. This whole scenario was distressingly familiar. "Just wait for the giant robot attack…"

"The whatnow?"

"What?" She looked around. "I didn't hear anything."

On the rare quiet day when she had her work done early and was fed up with her remote refusing to be more than a hunk of metal and wires, Jane would take long walks outside the base to clear her head. She'd sit in the rec room with a book or go back to her bunk for a twenty-minute catnap. Sometimes, HYDRA would maintain radio silence for a few weeks and that was when she could expect to be snatched out of the hall and dragged off for a private moment with one incorrigible sergeant.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he whispered in her ear as he slipped a box of chocolates in her hands.

"Can't believe you remembered," Jane giggled without shame. Better she look like a lovestruck schoolgirl than admit she'd forgotten another holiday. "Where'd you get these?"

"We do get paid for our services, you know." His mouth was so close to her ear, he could kiss it. "I found a little shop in Czechoslovakia and had to get it for you. My favorite phony British girl."

Jane nudged him. "I'll get you for that someday."

"Do this mean you don't like the chocolates?"

"No, it means I won't share them with you."

He pouted like a baby until Jane relented and gave him a truffle.

Such was life in the middle of this devastating war, brief moments of peace stolen away wherever she could find them. Bonding with her friends, deepening connections which should have remained shallow. If she tried to pull away, she always found her way back to Bucky. Or he found his way to her. Hard to say.

Jane certainly wished he was around the day she found herself barricaded in a dilapidated shack with a hundred HYDRA operatives closing in on the blockade.

* * *

There was only one place big enough to hide in, an old hope chest with a broken lid and two corners rotted away. Jane had to curl up inside herself to fit, and her spine was in agony as bullets flew in all directions, taking out the decaying walls piece by piece. Jane kept one ear exposed, listening to Peggy shout orders and Steve slice through armored men and tanks. Something exploded, close enough to shake the building. A few planks broke off the ceiling, just barely missing her. Jane squeaked and forced her head up.

"How did this happen?" She spoke to no one as she wiggled herself free from the trunk and crawled on her elbows to the window. "We were just on an inspection. It was routine. Why attack _now_ of all times?"

If she were a military strategist, she could probably come up with a more in-depth and solid explanation. But she was a scientist and all that told her was the velocity of each bullet and how hot those blue energy emissions had to be to burn away an entire steel chair in under a second.

"Oh god," Jane mumbled as she crawled back on her ass. "Oh god ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod-"

Would dying in another time period be enough to cause a paradox? If they buried her, that would mean her decaying skeleton would eventually exist at the same time as her younger self. It was unlikely that little Jane would happen upon older Jane's grave, but even with a different last name on it, just being six feet away from each other could have any number of effects on the space-time continuum.

If it hit the universe, no more universe.

If it only hit she herself, she would be erased from existence and not grow up to be an astrophysicist. She would not have sent herself back in time to be killed in the 1940s, which would cause an even bigger paradox than the one that erased her, which would mean no more universe.

Therefore, she had to do everything in her power to not die.

The next bullet punched a hole three inches in diameter into the wall next to her head. From then on, it was only energy blasts.

"No guts no glory, Jane." She got down on her stomach and slithered across the cabin. "More like no guts no living…"

The attacks were all over the place. Nobody seemed to know who they were fighting. Jane made it to the other side and peeked through one of the holes. There was Peggy pistol-whipping a man before shooting him dead. Two more snuck up behind her but she only ducked her head as Steve's shield sailed into them.

She searched the area for Bucky, nearly shrieking out loud as a bloodied hand appeared in her line of sight. It connected to a body, ripped apart and glassy-eyed. The uniform was American. On his leg was a walkie-talkie spitting out static and a few mangled words. The eyes weren't aimed at her, but she felt their weight all the same.

Jane held her breath to keep from vomiting and muttered apologies as she slid the walkie out by the antenna. It gasped and beeped, but all HYDRA cared about was Captain America, not some random secretary caught in the crossfire.

She stayed low as she fiddled with the knob, listening for a hint of a familiar voice and keeping her eyes on the treeline. She caught movement in the blistering white. A hint of black where it shouldn't be and a glimmer preceding a gunshot. She hit a certain station and paused. Words rang out loud and clear.

"I got two more coming in from the left. Might need some back-up. Tell Steve to get that damn popsicle out of the way so I can-"

"Bucky!" Jane hissed, failing to keep the squeak out of her voice as a nearby jeep disintegrated. "Can you hear me?"

"Jane?" There was rustling on his end and she feared for a moment that she'd lost him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm okay. I'm hiding in a bunker. I mean, I think it's a bunker. I'm not really sure, but I'm safe." Another window shattered; thankfully not the one she was under.

"First of all, this is a party line so watch the accent. Second, what God's name do you think you're doing?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "just wanted to talk. Also, there's a sniper and I didn't know if you'd seen him."

"I can't see anything. My scope is cracked."

"I think they might be camouflaged. There's at least two of them. Can you see the trees over the building with all the holes and broken windows?"

There was a short pause. "Are you inside the building with the holes and broken windows?"

A ceiling panel hit the floor. "Just please shoot that guy. He's in the really tall tree three to the right of the gate. I think that's twelve o'clock? Or maybe two-"

A bullet knocked an avalanche of snow off the tree. A man in white gear and his gun fell with it. Thought it was only for a second, Jane thought she saw a red hole between his eyes. Another energy shot flew in the direction of the bullet, and Jane's heart seized. Bucky cursed and fired twice more. Both bullets hit home and the second man was down.

 _'Okay yeah, twelve o'clock.'_

"Dirty fuck," he seethed. Jane heard him cock his gun and the sound made her stomach ache. "Almost blew my arm clean off."

"Are you okay?" Jane held the walkie tight and sat up now that no one else was shooting at her.

"I'm great. Don't worry about me," he said. "With your sweet voice in my ear, nothing's gonna bring me down."

Jane started to smile before her eyes returned to the cooling corpse half buried in snow. She squeezed the stolen walkie tight enough to break it. First, she looted him now she was laughing.

"Jane, you there?"

"Yes!" Jane turned all the way around. "I'm here. You uh… you're an awful flirt, you know that?"

"Just trying to lighten the mood," he said. "I'm still mad at you, by the way."

The battle was over, restoring marginal peace to the snow-capped forest. Jane stumbled out of what remained of her sanctuary, twisting her legs so as not to step in red snow, straight into Steve's arms. Jane leaned all her weight into him, which was a bit like hitting a brick wall with a pool noodle. Every one of Jane's limbs felt liquified. It was a miracle she'd taken even one step on her own.

"I miss the desert," she mumbled. "Nothing happens in the desert."

Except for alien invasions and angry Norse god battles.

"That does sound pretty good right about now," said Steve.

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the newly arrived convoy. They had answered Peggy's hails, at last, twenty minutes and seven dead friendlies too late. Two men dragged gurneys out the back of their truck. They started with a fellow leaning against a tree sans head, and then Jane closed her eyes.

She counted the number of steps Steve took, making her thoughts as loud as possible. Somewhere, Peggy was chewing out another officer over the phone while Jones and Dernier carried on a lengthy conversation in French. At six steps, Steve stopped. Someone was standing in front of them.

"I got her."

"You sure?"

 _"Yes."_

"Well, if you really want her-"

"Shut up, punk."

Jane felt herself get passed between hands but didn't react. Objecting was the last thing on her mind as she settled into Bucky's strong grip and breathed in the scent of gunpowder on his jacket. It made her nose burn and her eyes water, but she couldn't get enough of it.

His gun was slung over his shoulder. It was big and mean-looking. She had no idea what to call it other than death machine, so instead, she focused on his perfect jawline covered in stubble; those damn lips of his which she couldn't believe no one else was entranced by. Didn't his whole team just want to make out with him all the time and damn the consequences? No way that was just her.

"You've been waiting ages to get me like this, haven't you?"

"Technically, I'd hoped for a different locale." He stepped over a bloody body. The sight of it knocked the smile off Jane's face. "And I'm still mad."

"Would it help if I said we weren't expecting the ambush and that's why Peggy let me come along?"

"Nobody ever expects an ambush. That's why it's called an ambush." He slowed his pace as they moved over an icy patch of snow. "At least next time Peggy'll have you stay back."

"You make it sound like you don't want me here," Jane said.

"I want you safe." They had reached an empty truck meant to take all the uninjured men back to base. It was only then Jane noticed the cut on his forehead. The former nursing minor in her cringed. He needed some antiseptic on that and soon. "You're not a soldier, Jane. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," she said defensively. She reigned it in at his hard, accusing stare. "I mean… do I need to be? I have you guys."

A medic with excellent timing chose that moment to drag Bucky away and give him a quick examination.

It took them half an hour to get on the road, and the trip back felt three times longer than the trip there. Peggy spent it trying to nap but kept mumbling to herself about write-ups. Dugan started telling a story about a drill sergeant who passed gas one day during the morning inspection. Not the most engaging tale, but it got a few laughs. Even Falsworth cracked a grin, though, like most of the men, his eyes remained haunted.

Jane failed to hear most of it. All her attention was on Bucky, shunted into the far corner with a bandage on his forehead and the rifle in his lap. He shot her a piercing look and mouthed 'later'. She knew exactly what that meant; this conversation was not over and she was still in trouble.

Which was fine. He wasn't really mad at her, just concerned. By nature, he was a protector, and since Steve could take care of himself now, he'd moved on to Jane. That was all anything he did meant. She was an innocent bystander caught up in a war, so he spent his free time around her and kept her secrets and bought her gifts and called her his favorite girl because he wanted to keep her safe. Just like any other decent human being would do.

Even as she thought it, she felt like her common sense was laughing at her.


	8. The Prom at San Dimas

**A/N: Here's chapter eight/part two, including the moment you've all (hopefully) been waiting for!**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It was a cycle.

Jane knew this as she pressed her hands into her eyes, elbows propped up on the desk with the shaved off corners and broken bottom drawer she hadn't opened in three months. She knew it when the clock struck five and when she glanced at the calendar and saw they were halfway through March. Ten months she'd been in the past. Almost a full year. A lot could happen in ten months' time. Research papers were written. Babies were conceived and born. Couples met and fell in love and got married.

Someone entered the office. It wasn't Peggy, so Jane didn't look up. Two folders fell on her desk. "For Agent Carter."

Jane nodded as the nameless, faceless person left. Maybe she should meet everyone like this from now on. She moves it aside for future assessment. Several other loose papers shift, revealing the bottom half of Bucky's Valentine's Day card. The one she thought she'd stored away in the bottom of her trunk.

 _'For my best girl,'_ it read inside a giant heart drawn in pencil. It was pretty plain all things considered; Hallmark wasn't likely to deliver greeting cards into an active warzone.

Which meant he'd taken what little free time he had between missions to make this card and attach it to the gift he bought with his own money, all for a woman he hadn't even kissed yet. Jane's heart fluttered as she traced the shaky lines. There was a partial print in the top left corner. Jane placed her finger over it, though it didn't quite fit. Her face ached, but she couldn't stop grinning. Not until the ticking reached her ears and she happened to look at the clock again. Five more minutes come and gone. In the top drawer was her remote, still broken, waiting for her.

Jane threw the card aside and rubbed her forehead. It felt like her brain had just swelled up to twice its size. _'Okay Jane, how does it go? You're determined and singularly focused on getting home, and then Bucky shows up with his eyes and his mouth and his shoulders and you turn into a puddle of goo at his feet. Then he leaves and your rational mind comes back only so you can do it all over again the next time he shows up to sweep you off your feet. Is that right?'_

"Yeah," she answered herself, chair leaned all the way back. "That's right…"

She let her head drop on the desk and released all the air in her lungs. Her shirt was unbuttoned at the top and she could see the lining of her ridiculous cone bra. How anyone ever thought this was a good fashion decision, she didn't know. Re-doing the buttons would be a good idea in case someone important showed up. It wasn't like she was Bucky that time he and the guys were out play-wrestling and Morita pulled his shirt over his head, showing off a toned stomach with a smattering of hair on his stomach leading into his pants-

 _"Come on_ _,"_ Jane groaned, slamming her fists on the armrests. "What is the matter with you? He's just one guy."

She stomped around the office like a caged animal. It was too cramped to make a proper circle. Three times, she hit the door before slamming it shut with her foot.

"For Christ's sake, Jane, it's like you've never seen a man before in your life." She pulled her hair. "So what if he's smart and sweet and hot. Thor was all those things, too. So was Don. So was the guy you had your first kiss with in high school. Bucky's no different. You had a literal thunder god in your lap and you didn't even notice until he was half naked. What makes this guy so special?"

If there was an answer to that question, she didn't want to know it. She was pretty sure she couldn't know it because whether this was a passing fancy to him or something deeper, she was a temporal stranger and she had to get home. Maybe one day she hit him up for coffee at the nursing home, but here in 1943 ( _'1944 now'_ she reminded herself) it simply could not happen.

She'd told herself this a dozen times and she'd tell herself a dozen more.

It. Could. Not. Happen.

Jane returned to her desk and dropped Bucky's card in the waste bin. She almost ripped it back out but picked up her remote instead. Setting it down she found a fresh sheet of paper and fiddled with the buttons, noting down every reaction and lack thereof. This was her mission. Her most important contribution to the war effort was staying out of the way and getting back where she belonged as fast as possible. Anything else was secondary and to be ignored. She placed a pile of books on the edge of the desk, blocking her view of the garbage.

"Integrated circuits look okay," she mumbled, examining each transistor as much as the dim lamplight would allow. "That's better than I expected. Might have to replace some of the wires to restore the connection. How to convince Howard to loan me some, there's the rub."

The door opened. This time, it was Peggy. "Not busy, are you?"

Jane sat up straighter. Her buttons were still undone. "Just doing my normal secretarial work like a normal secretary." She scribbled a memo to herself and stuffed it in the drawer with her remote. "Need something?"

"Not me, but we're both wanted in Phillips' office immediately. I'm told it's urgent." She didn't look convinced.

"He wants me, too?" The last time she spoke to Phillips, he called her Ms. Ciderhouse twice. "Are you sure?"

Peggy shrugged. "All I know is we must be there as soon as possible for a debriefing. Perhaps it has something to do with our little adventure the last week."

Adventure was not the word Jane would've used. Thor was an adventure. The Einstien-Rosen Bridge was an adventure. Last week was an ordeal. Granted, the outcome was not at all unpleasant (she still remembered what it was like to be in his arms), but Jane wasn't supposed to think about those things anymore.

They walked in silence, Peggy greeting her associates with a nod as they passed, Jane bowing her head and making herself look small. Phillips' office was on the next floor up and the elevator was out of order. That left them to climb two sets of stairs and Jane's legs were on fire by the time they reached the second flight.

"So how is Steve?" This was the longest she and Peggy had gone without speaking and it didn't sit right.

"He's doing well," Peggy said shortly. "The rest of his men are well, too. Sergeant Barnes always asks about you."

"Oh," Jane said as though it meant as much to her as the rest of Peggy's sentence. "That's nice."

"That's what you wanted to know, isn't it?"

Jane gulped. "I'm… glad to hear it. Nice to be thought of, you know…"

"Do I?"

Peggy's tone and suspicious eye made Jane's stomach sink. Not all the way, but it would be some time before the discomfort and sense of foreboding abated.

The door was closed when they reached the office, not that Jane expected any different. The multiple shadows and voices coming from inside piqued her curiosity. She tried to count and made it to six before giving up. This had to be a big important meeting if Phillips had all his commander buddies gathered together.

 _'At least this'll help keep my mind off Bucky.'_ Jane pulled back her spine and prepared herself for a clash with the big boys.

Inside, Dugan had commandeered Phillips while Morita popped open a bottle of champagne. They drank and lost their minds at Dugan's semi-accurate impersonation of the colonel.

"All you little pansy boys drop and give me twenty." He squinted hard and added an exaggerated accent. "I've been in this army for twenty goddamn years and I ain't here to send slackers off knockin' on Adolf Hitler's door, no siree."

"I don't think he ever says 'no siree', said Jones.

"He looks like he would," Dugan insisted.

"Come one, guys, let's be mature," said Steve, a half-hearted effort to be the responsible leader. Nobody missed his uncontained smile.

"Hey there." And there he was, like the growl of a wolf nipping at Jane's ear. She felt through the thick, itchy material of her skirt, checking that her underwear had not spontaneously melted. "I missed you."

"M-missed you, too." Jane clenched her teeth as Bucky wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Hark!" Dugan shouted, cupping his ear and leaning towards them. "Do mine ears deceive me or have the lovely ladies arrived at last?"

"Fuck off, Dugan," Bucky snapped. "You didn't invite them, we did."

"Right, you and Rogers." Dugan stood and walked around the desk to join his compatriots. "The only two assholes in the world who went to war to pick up women."

"Pardon me, Corporal, but no one has 'picked us up' as you say," said Peggy, smiling politely in that way of hers which promised a slow and painful death with any household items within reach. "We came assuming we were needed for a more serious matter than just a friendly visit."

Dugan snorted. "Friendly visit. Is that what you call being rewarded for our exemplary service with the Congressional Medal of Honor?"

Jane had been nodding along with Peggy, but at that, she froze. She thought he might be joking, but Bucky was grinning in the corner of her vision. She should look at him. Or maybe she shouldn't. No, she definitely shouldn't. She was going to anyway.

The cycle continued.

"You're getting Medals of Honor? All of you?"

"Don't sound so surprised," said Morita. "We may not all be super soldiers or scarily accurate snipers, but communications is just as important and worthy of recognition."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night, then sure, buddy," Dugan snarked.

"Oh, and what did you get awarded for, Dugan?" asked Jones. "Your mustache?"

"Yeah, asshole, you wish you could grow something this majestic," Dugan stroked his bushy, yet well trimmed facial hair with pride.

"What these idiots are trying to say," Bucky interjected, "is that we're going out to celebrate, and we want our girls with us."

"I don't know about that-"

"Uh-uh, you two work way too hard already," said Jones. "I think we all deserve a night off."

There was a murmur of agreement, and unless Jane's ears had completely ceased functioning, Peggy's voice was among them. Jane tried to get her attention, but Steve had swooped in with a sheepish grin like he wasn't a literal Adonis with women all over the country dying for a night with him. Jane would never hold it against Peggy when she took his hand and left with him, not a single word of dissent on her lips. How could she? She was about to do the same thing.

"How about some dancing?" Bucky led the way as the rest of the team debated which bar to hit up first. "I know a place around here I think you'd like."

Jane bit her lip. "Always dancing with you, isn't it? You think you're so smooth."

"You said it." He kissed the side of her head and there was simply no arguing with that.

* * *

Bucky had indeed found a nice dance hall tucked away between an abandoned dress shop and an antique store in downtown London. It was smaller than the one they met in, darker with a much more limited selection at the bar. Only Dugan took exception to that last one. The rest contented themselves with fresh beer and whiskey, all on his tab. Peggy had two drinks and then dragged Steve onto the dance floor. Morita challenged Dernier to a shots contest and quickly regretted the decision when Dernier packed away eight glasses with barely a sway in his stance. Bucky and Falsworth dragged Morita, singing That Old Black Magic and forgetting half the words, into the washroom to sober up. Dernier shrugged and said something to Jones.

"He says you have to enjoy the little things," Jones sniggered.

"How can we enjoy anything in this dump?" Dugan eyed the floating specks in his drink like they were poisonous. "I don't think this piss water is even fermented."

"Perhaps it's simply too high quality for your tastes," Falsworth quipped as he and Bucky rejoined the group.

"Perhaps you can suck my dick."

"No thank you. I have no idea where it's been."

The men shared a laugh at Dugan's expense. He flipped them off and went to chat up the waitress while Bucky took his place at Jane's side. All night, he'd stuck close to her, warding off handsy drunks and well-meaning gentlemen looking for a partner. Two feet was the limit. Anyone who dared get closer was treated to Bucky whispering sweet nothings in Jane's ear while not so subtly glaring them off.

It left Jane torn. His protectiveness meant she couldn't interact with strangers, decreasing the risk of new ripples in the timeline. It also meant she'd have more people assuming a sordid love affair was going on. His hand on her back as they walked to the bar for refills felt claiming.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Bucky sighed over a beer as the waitress slapped Dugan and trotted off. "A bunch of idiots."

"That's why they need you to be their voice of reason," Jane replied. "Get them out of all those fights with your amazing sniper skills."

"Do you have any idea how exhausting that is? I must've aged ten years in six months. Am I greying? Please tell me I'm not going grey."

"You're fine," Jane laughed, as he bent his head for her to check. "You're as gorgeous as ever so…"

She stopped. A swinging jazz number shook the walls and sent vibrations up Jane's feet into her chest. Loud as it was, she could hear herself perfectly; the words coming out of her mouth that should have stayed in her brain where they were safe. Bad for her mental state of being, but safe. They were out now and Bucky had heard them. Much as she wished the music drowned her out, his wide eyes and cheeky smile said it all.

"You know," he leaned in, "dumb as those guys are, they're not the only ones I'm stuck taking care of, are they?"

Jane frowned. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing. I am directly stating that you going into a firefight with no weapon and no experience was a stupid idea. Especially for someone with a doctorate."

Oh, he wanted to play _that_ game. "Haven't we discussed this already? It was an _ambush_ _._ "

"An ambush you were not prepared for." Bucky paced around her like a squad leader before a wayward private. His posturing was effective. She almost wanted to throw out her chest and cry, 'sir, yes sir!' "Rule number one of combat: always be prepared for anything. You don't even have a pocket knife, do you?"

Instead of letting her answer (not that he was wrong), he snatched a fork off one of the empty tables. He held it prong side out like a deadly weapon, aiming for her chest.

"Are you going to stab me?" Jane asked, eying the fork dubiously. There was still some food caked on it.

"If you can't stop me, I might." He poked the air around her buttons. "If the other guy has a knife and you don't, your best bet is to be faster. Grab my arm with both hands."

"Not sure how that'll help."

"It will because they won't be expecting it." Bucky placed her hand on his forearm. "People usually go on the defensive when they're being attacked. Or they try to grab the weapon. Either way, they probably won't make it, so you have to keep your head on straight."

He'd checked his coat at the door, leaving him in a gray sweater that looked exactly as non-regulation as the rest of his wardrobe. His arm was firm like thick rope. It couldn't be a coincidence that he has her gripping his biceps.

"Like this?" She moved his arm against the bartop, letting his sleeve make contact with polished wood.

"That's perfect," Bucky said, "for playing tag with six-year-olds. You're fighting for your life here. Put some effort into it."

It took her several tries before he was satisfied. Jane pushed his arm away with increasing roughness, egged on by his razor-sharp critiques. If she was too slow, he'd exaggerate each word he said well over the top. If she tried to direct the blow to a flatter surface he'd compliment her on her consideration for the potential killer out for her blood.

"You think I'm bad," he laughed after catching her pouting, "try going through Basic. Let me hear a 'Sir, yes sir."

"Sir, yes sir," Jane repeated.

"That's adorable." Bucky replaced her hand on his forearm. "Now come on, slam it hard. Break the bones. Not really, but you know what I mean."

"Is this how you treat everyone you work with?"

"Just the ones I have authority over." He glances at Steve, clearly irate that he couldn't exert such control over his dear friend.

He looked away from her at the crowd. That was her opening and she took it. She threw all her weight into his arm. It hit the table with the rest of his upper body. She had misjudged her own strength and his preparedness to take the blow. The end result was him bent on one knee, letting out a string of curses mixed with laughter. Jane didn't realize he was laughing at first. It was mixed with the other Commandos' howls of approval. For a second, she thought he was actually in pain and knelt beside him, fussing over his 'injured' arm.

"Isn't that sweet?" Dugan shouted. "Big Bad Bucky. Kills Nazi scum like a pro, and yet he's knocked off his feet by a beautiful dame."

Bucky was up again, his arm in perfect condition. He winked at Jane. "That was good. Now, what do you say you go kick that fucker's ass for me?"

"I don't know," Jane said, looking Dugan up and down. Maybe it was just the uniform, but he was built like a tank. "That might not be a fair fight. I don't want to hurt him too badly."

A chorus of 'oohs' as Dugan raised his drink to her. "Thanks for going easy on me, beautiful."

"Any time."

A new song came on as Bucky ordered another round of beers. Jane politely declined, choosing instead to nurse a glass of water. Dugan gallantly offered to carry the tray for his waitress friend. She accepted, possibly just to give her arms a rest. Occasionally she answered Dugan's flirty remarks in French, and based on Jones and Dernier's snickering, her words were less than flattering.

Jane's eyes wandered around the dance floor, taking in singles and couples alike moving to the music. It was no dance she'd ever seen, more like jumping in place than moving to the beat. Still, there was a certain charm to the scene that Jane couldn't deny. The one time her friends dragged her to a nightclub, she'd spent the evening avoiding sweaty, drunk men grinding into her ass and going deaf from the pounding house track. She had failed to see the appeal of 'nightlife' and spent the rest of the semester sequestered in her dorm room studying for finals.

She felt like one of those crusty baby boomers sneering at modern-day trends, but this really was a lot better. The atmosphere was brighter, the mood happier, even with the war raging right outside the window.

Hell, maybe because of it.

"Would you get a load of that?"

Bucky directed her gaze to the foot of the bandstand, where Steve and Peggy were attempting a clumsy rendition of a box step. It was the entirely wrong dance for this kind of song, but judging from the look on Steve's face, it was the only one he knew. He stepped on Peggy's foot twice. The third time, he fell all over himself pleading for forgiveness. Peggy smiled like she didn't know what else to do and coaxed Steve back to his feet. From then on, and until he got the hang of it, she led. Against his massive frame, she was a tiny thing, but he followed her without question, and he learned fast.

Pretty soon, he was spinning her around the dance floor, keeping all his limbs in check, earning himself more than a few admiring stares from the female patrons. A few of them tried to get his attention, moving into his line of sight or shimmying up to him in an attempt to cut in. Jane would honestly believe he didn't intentionally snub any of them. She saw the way he looked at Peggy as she raised her hand to his cheek and pulled their foreheads together. It was like a movie: all the world melted away and there was only Steve and Peggy.

Nothing else in the world mattered except each other.

"My little boy is growing up." Bucky sniffled. "I'm so proud."

Jane took his hand thoughtlessly. "Give Peggy some credit. She's been all over him from the start."

"Is that so?" There was something in his voice Jane immediately recognized. No matter what Steve was now, Bucky would never forget the sickly boy he spent his adolescence protecting from harm.

"Since the day they met," Jane said emphatically. "Nobody saw what he was capable of. _I_ didn't see it, but she did."

Bucky exhaled like he'd been holding his breath all night. "Good. I had a feeling Carter was the one for him."

"Did you?"

"Of course," he said. "Second best dame I've ever met."

He pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She kept it in a bun most days, but tonight she'd let it down and hoped her slightly out of place style wouldn't make her stand out. Their hands were still touching, stuck together by an invisible force she could barely comprehend. Never before had she felt this kind of pulsing energy from simple skin contact.

 _'Thor,'_ her inner voice whispered.

 _'Uh-huh,'_ she answered, as Bucky cocked his head at the door.

"It's getting stuffy in here. How about a walk in the park?"

Jane didn't say yes, but she didn't say no either. She let Bucky lead her away from the party and the relative safety of a group setting. Outside, in the middle of the night, on one of the only clear nights London was likely to see in a year, it was just the two of them alone with the crickets. No Commandos to ruin the mood with their demands for PDA. No Peggy to make vaguely disapproving remarks, reminding Jane of all she risked every time she let Bucky into her space.

They left out the back gate and walked half a block to a small, grassy enclosure. It wasn't really a park, just a patch of land as of yet untouched by modernization. There was nowhere to sit, just a few rocks big enough for children to climb on and feel tall. The path was a line of dirt where nothing grew. Their footsteps joined countless others, big and small. A toy soldier stuck halfway out of the grass, long forgotten by its owner.

Jane stared at the upturned figure. Its uniform wasn't much different than that of the dead man by the bunker. The man whose name she never got to learn.

She swallowed back a wave of nausea, realizing too late she'd squeezed his arm. He stopped talking. She had no idea what he'd been saying to begin with.

"Hey, you okay?"

Jane nodded. "I'm fine. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" He stood in front of her, keeping her from moving.

"Just stuff," she stared at the ground. "Secret stuff for Peggy that I do… you know, in secret."

He pursed his lips. "Not about the ambush?"

She started. Even with her head down she knew he caught it. His entire stance changed and his arms crept across her shoulders, giving her time to escape before he had her in a full hug.

"You saw things out there," it wasn't a question. "Things you shouldn't have seen. That's why I got so mad, you know."

She did, not that it helped. "There was a man by the bunker. He was… dead. I stole his walkie and I feel really bad about it."

"I don't think he would've minded." Bucky rubbed her back.

"Did you see him?"

"I think so."

"Did you know him?"

"A little. His name was Rob Derby. Irishman with a mouth on him. Kept talking about all the scotch he'd drink when he got back home."

Jane almost smiled. Having his name was good, and she'd remember it her whole life, but it nagged at her that Rob Derby never get any of that scotch. Not unless he found an afterlife with an open bar.

"I feel weird sometimes," she croaked, her throat and ears aching. "I didn't even know him, but I keep thinking about his face. There was blood everywhere."

"It's not weird," Bucky said, looking her straight in the eye. "Doesn't matter if he was a stranger. Death is death, and no one should ever have to get that close to it."

His entire visage took on a dark shadow. Though he didn't let go, she felt for a moment like he wasn't with her anymore. Perhaps he'd gone back in time to a dank cage or a cold operating table. He'd already given her a version of his time as a POW that she suspected was heavily abridged. That was weeks ago and they hadn't spoken of it since. Whatever happened to him, she saw it in the lines around his eyes. Even when he was happy.

"Bucky, can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," he said, and she liked him a little more for not using the old 'you just did' line.

"How…" she struggled with the words. "How do you deal with it? The war, I mean? Everything you guys do. I can't imagine HYDRA's operatives come out unscathed too often in your raids."

He sighed. "It's not easy. You're right that we're kind of glorified exterminators. Except instead of bugs we're killing Nazis, which when you think about it, isn't that much different."

Jane's lips twitched up. Bucky grinned back.

"That right there, that's how we do it. You saw Dugan joking around with those guys on the ride back, right?"

"Yeah."

"You think he did that because he thinks the war is funny?"

"Of course not." Not even Dugan was that depraved.

Bucky nodded. "He knew those boys weren't the same as when they first got out of that truck. The things they've seen and done… it'll stay with them forever. If we don't take time to remember the little things, even a stupid gag about farting drill sergeants, we won't survive out there. We need to keep moving, for ourselves, our country, and our friends. If we don't, men like Derby died for nothing."

The pure emotion in his voice rattled her, like standing at the epicenter of an earthquake. His arms had turned into steel rods, but when she thought about asking him to let go, she'd look at his face and the well of unshed tears he was too tough to release. She wanted to say it was okay, he could cry in front of her. She wouldn't tell anyone. Instead, she hugged him back, as tightly as she could, so he'd feel her warmth and be soothed by it, the way he soothed her.

Jane placed her chin on his clothed chest, watching the light of the half-full moon reflected in his eyes. "So when it gets hard, what do you think about?"

Bucky jaw clenched. He released her only so he could take her hand and continue their walk. "It depends. Sometimes I think about my family, how much I want to see them again. Last month was my parents' wedding anniversary."

"That's great," Jane said, rubbing her mostly dry eyes. "How many years?"

"Twenty-nine. Dad always says they're going to Atlantic City for number thirty, Mom's favorite place she's never been to. He's been planning the trip for eight years now."

Jane whistled. "That's a long time."

"They would've gone for twenty, but then that damn stock market." He rolled his eyes like the Great Depression had been a minor inconvenience. Jane could help but laugh, and already, she felt a little lighter.

"Sounds like he wants to make up for lost time."

"Trust me, he'll make it happen. Whatever he's got to do."

Bucky smiled thinking about his father. Jane could picture him in her head, an older, more distinguished version of the man before her. Handsome, loving, and strong, ready to fight to the ends of the earth for those he cared about. A hero who held the respect of all who knew him.

Mrs. Barnes was a lucky woman. Jane would never meet her but didn't doubt that for a second.

"You know, the first thing my dad ever said to my mom was that his balls were sweaty."

Jane almost swallowed her tongue. _"What?"_

"Actually, it's a good story." They turned into a different section of the park. This one had fewer trees, but a clearer path. "See, way back when, my dad was on the town's baseball team. He'd just gotten out of the locker room after a big game and Mom was hanging around looking to get an autograph from the pitcher. My dad was the first baseman."

"Of course," Jane murmured.

"It was mid-August and really hot out, and I guess he didn't realize his buddies weren't behind him anymore. So that's how he met my mom. Two months later, they were married."

"Only two months?."

"Dad said he knew she was the one within a week." Bucky got a far off look in his eye as they approached a small bench, the only one in sight for miles. "He always said, when you meet the right girl, you just know. It's like lightning."

Jane nodded. She refused to look and see if Bucky's eyes were on her. Everything about this situation, this conversation, being alone with him, was wrong. Every part of her buzzed with the wrongness of it all. She was changing the future, risking the present, living a life that wasn't hers… and when he offered her his coat as the winds picked up, she didn't suggest they go back. She took it with a smile.

"My parents didn't have quite so intense a love story," she said, smoothing her dress out. "They met in college. My dad was a physics major and my mom was studying mythology and folklore. Those things go together a lot more than you think."

"I believe it. The planets and stars are all named after gods, right?"

This was common knowledge to most people in Jane's time, and presumably his, too. She still felt like sitting his lap and doing all the dirty things she'd been dreaming of for months.

"Roman gods mostly," she said, hoping the lack of light would hide her blush. "But yeah. They used to go out into the woods and find a clear spot to stargaze. Dad found the constellations and Mom told him the stories behind them. Somewhere down the line, I showed up, and that just gave Mom a wider audience. I'd go to bed every night with stories of ancient heroes, monsters, demigods… child-friendly versions, that is."

"I was just going to ask." Bucky grinned. "Was it all Greek and Roman stuff?"

"Oh no, She knew myths from all over the world. Egyptian, Celtic, Chinese, Japanese..."

"How about Norse?" Jane clamped a hand over her mouth to cover a fit of giggles. Bucky blinked. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," Jane cleared her throat as the convulsions stopped. "Just… yeah, some Norse, too. But my favorite was probably Orpheus, the musician. He was married to Eurydice, a daughter of Apollo. When she died, he journeyed into the Underworld and pleaded with Hades to let her live again."

"Did it work?"

"Almost. Hades allowed Eurydice to leave as long as Orpheus didn't look at her until they were back in the living world. Unfortunately, Orpheus couldn't wait, and when he turned around, she was dragged back into the Underworld permanently. Orpheus spent the rest of his life praying for death so he could join her again."

Bucky gawked at her. "Your mom told you _that_ as a bedtime story?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, it's no worse than what you'd find in a Grimm's fairy tale."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"Then I hope you never read the original Cinderella." She nudged him gently with her shoulder."Besides, it's romantic. Imagine loving someone so much you'd literally go through Hell for them."

Jane looked up, and their faces were too close; just inches apart. She didn't know when that had happened. This bench was more than big enough for both of them. They could comfortably sit on opposite sides with a good half foot between them. Yet here they were, legs touching, fingers brushing, his breath on the tip of her nose, his blue eyes dark as black.

He was like a magnet, pulling her in. She couldn't escape. He was getting closer.

 _'No don't.'_

Closer.

 _'Don't.'_

Closer…

 _'Don't…'_

He tasted like chocolate and beer, a combination Jane never knew she loved so much. His lips were soft, yet needful, his teeth scraping her skin, sending shocks of heat through every nerve ending. Jane moaned as her eyes fell closed. Her fingers combed through his hair. It was just as thick and silky as she'd hoped. He had her almost in his lap, holding her upright with a steady hand. Their lips moved together, chaste yet passionate. For once, there was no need for anything else.

Never in her life had Jane so thoroughly lost herself in a single moment, but right now, she didn't want to think anymore. She just wanted to feel.

* * *

The ceremony came complete with a full camera crew, recording the historic event for future generations. A radio host provided live commentary to the citizens listening at home. Somewhere in Brooklyn, Jane knew a certain family was gathered around the big box, adjusting to the best possible frequency as their son and brother received his honors.

A random senator gave a speech, followed by a random general. Jane watched from the sidelines, away from the cameras. Beside her was Peggy, who wouldn't look at her as long as Steve was in sight. She tapped her feet to music no one else could hear. Perhaps a jazzy number meant for dancing.

Reporters snapped still shots from all directions. Jane hid her face when it looked like she was in view. Peggy helped by standing in front of her. At one point, Jane couldn't see Bucky anymore and discreetly moved to the left where Peggy's shoulder wasn't in the way. The other woman shot her a look but didn't comment.

"Agent Carter," Phillips approached them from behind, "You have a phone call from Senator Brandt."

"Thank you, sir." Peggy glanced at Jane one more time, perhaps expecting her to follow. Jane pressed her heels into the grass and didn't move. After a brief pause, Peggy's footsteps were swallowed up by another round of applause.

"Miss Cinderhouse, how are you doing today?"

Jane had been called by that name so many times over the past year, she no longer needed to remember it was hers. It was ingrained as deeply as the name she'd been born with, and yet she still wasn't sure if she was really the one Phillips was addressing.

"Very well, thank you," she said. A man had appeared on stage with a flat wooden box. It opened to reveal seven star-shaped medals adorned with blue ribbons.

"I heard you had a bit of a skirmish at the Twinfront Outpost."

"You mean the ambush?" Jane bit her tongue. Of course he meant the stupid ambush… "There's not much I can tell you."

"No need, I've already read the reports," he said. "I understand you helped Sergeant Barnes take out their snipers."

"I just told him where to shoot, sir."

"Don't be modest. You saved a lot of lives out there." He offered her a hand and then the strangest thing of all happened. He smiled. "Because of you, a lot of good men get to live another day. You may not get a medal for it, but you have my thanks, Miss Cinderhouse. Couldn't have done it without you."

Jane let him shake her hand. She had no ability to move it herself. Her thoughts were a jumble. "Without me?"

Phillips gave her a final approving nod before returning to his men, issuing orders and dictating notes to a private with a clipboard. In the meantime, the medals were removed from the box and presented to their eagerly waiting recipients. They started with Steve, then moved down the line from Dugan to Falsworth to Morita to Jones. Before they reached Bucky he turned and met Jane's gaze.

His grin threatened to rip his face in half, so bright it was blinding. Jane waved, the only reasonable action she could manage. The cameras focused on him as the ribbon went around his neck, and congratulations were given. Bucky saw and heard none of it. Their praise washed over him like the meaningless words of a stranger. He looked at Jane and saw only her.

Like she meant the world to him.


End file.
